


Fire on the Mountain: Part 3 of "A Healer's Touch"

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: Healer [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aldmeri Dominion, Dragons, F/M, High Hrothgar, M/M, Multi, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 69,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PART 3 of "A Healer's Touch" starts 11 years after Part 2 ends. The gods are preparing for the Aldmeri Dominion and are determined to save Nirn. What will be the fate of the Dragon Child and of Dragonkind? Story follows the lives of Nehenarah the Dovahkiir, and Ulfric and Ralof's families. (Please R&R, and read Part 1 and 2 first!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Plans

The three teenage girls sat in the courtyard in Whiterun. Lucia was the oldest at eighteen years of age, Basira, the younger sister of Braith, was the middle of the three at sixteen, and Nehenarah the youngest at fifteen. The girls sat in the same courtyard every Loredas, usually after breakfast. More often than not, they faced the direction of Jorrvaskr to try and catch a glimpse of a Companion or two, particularly to see who the new recruits were. Sometimes they even sat on the stone walls that surrounded the mead hall.

Ever since the Civil War ended and the warriors of Skyrim grew weary of the veteran life, the Companions grew in numbers. Haming, Nehenarah's cousin and adopted brother, having been vouched for by Aela the Huntress as well as his father, Fjornir, the Harbinger, became a full member when he turned twenty-one; he was now twenty-seven. Lydia, a long-time friend of the Companions and partner of Vilkas, was initiated years before that.

To the annoyance of Nehenarah, Lucia had her eyes on Haming, and she would never shut up about it. Haming, however, was married to Mila Valentia and had two young ones of his own. Basira didn't talk about it much, but she had the biggest crush on Agata, the blonde Nord twenty-something recruit from Bruma in Cyrodiil. She didn't care that the woman was considered too old for her. Basira loved how Agata wore her hair, with multiple braids running down each side of her head, and was growing her own black hair longer in an attempt to mimic the fashion.

Unlike her friends, Nehenarah wasn't interested in ogling the Companions. She was, however, curious as to how her friend Brynjarr was coping. At fifteen, he was their youngest recruit since Haming. Brynjarr had spent so much of his young life in Whiterun that he had grown to love the town, and had grown up with stories of the Companions, particularly hearing the deeds of their Harbinger, Fjornir, Nehenarah's father. Fjornir and Haming had both vouched for the young man, and with his father Ralof's permission, Brynjarr was allowed to become a recruit.

Though Brynjarr tried to convince his father to move to Whiterun, he refused. Ralof preferred the quiet life that Riverwood offered, even if it meant living alone in the house he was meant to share with Brynjarr's mother, Brynja, who had died in childbirth. To pass the time, Ralof often went hunting with his nephew Frodnar which he greatly enjoyed, particularly when Haming traveled south to join them. Ralof intentionally avoided Whiterun ever since Brynjarr was old enough to travel on his own. Seeing Nehenarah's mother, Eirin, his first love, was still too painful for him, even after two decades had passed since he had been with her. He did however travel to Windhelm several times a year to see his lover, the High King Ulfric Stormcloak, and the two communicated often with letters.

Around mid-morning, Lucia, Basira, and Nehenarah watched a group of unfamiliar warriors, three men and one woman, walk from the southern part of Whiterun up towards Jorrvaskr. They were all in their late teens or early twenties, and all ferocious-looking. One of the men stood out to Nehenarah. He had auburn hair clumped together in a multitude of dreadlocks, and his skin was the color of bronze. When the warriors passed the sight-seers, the bronze-skinned man caught Nehenarah staring, then grinned and winked as he passed her. Nehenarah froze on the bench. She knew her cheeks were turning bright red. Her friends, sitting to either side of her, giggled in response to the warrior's greeting. As the warriors ascended the steps to Jorrvaskr, the bronze-skinned man turned around for a moment to inspect the teenagers. Nehenarah thought she saw him smiling.

"'Narah, you're so lucky," said Lucia. "I would give anything to live in Jorrvaskr."

"It's not so great," Nehenarah replied. "The only privacy I have is in my bedroom, and there is always drinking and shouting, sometimes late at night."

"Yeah, but you get to see all the warriors.  _All the time_." Basira wished she had an excuse to linger in the hall, steeling glances at Agata.

"It gets tiresome after a while, trust me," Nehenarah said. She didn't add the fact that every single Companion treaded around her like she were made of gold dust and treated her like she were a delicate little flower. She blamed all of that on her father, just for being the Harbinger, as well as the Dragonborn.

"I can't wait until I'm eighteen," said Basira, "then my parents can't keep me from joining the Companions."

"So you can impress Agata with how many books you've read?" Lucia teased. Basira gave her a dirty look. "I've never seen you with a weapon."

"I practice staff-fighting with my mother's broom," Basira retorted. The girls raised their eyebrows at her. "What? It's a weapon! Just you wait. You'll see."

Nehenarah sighed. Her and Lucia cared nothing for fighting, but unlike Lucia, Nehenarah wielded a natural weapon. She could manipulate seemingly infinite amounts of energy into deadly bolts of lightning that she shot from her fingertips. The Companions did not take battle-mages into their ranks, however, and Nehenarah had no interest in joining the Mage's College of Winterhold. She therefore kept her talent to herself and her loved ones. In truth, she had no idea what she would do with her life, or with her abilities.

She wondered if she would end up taking over for the aging Tilma, the caretaker of the Companions, though it was looking like Mila, Haming's wife, was aiming for that position. She was already taking care of the various young children that scampered around Jorrvaskr, which included Mila and Haming's own little ones, Rolf and Lara, named after Haming's birth parents, and Nehenarah's three younger siblings, Dezserahhe, age eleven, Iilahaan, eight, and Fjornir and Eirin's only son, Kenlaas, four. Fjornir, being the Dragonborn, had made it a point to give his children unique names. In order of birth, their names meant, in Dragonspeak, "never alone", "fate of the gods", "moonlight", and "knight life". When Dezserahhe was born, Fjornir had joked that he was fated to be surrounded by beautiful women, and he named his second daughter accordingly. That was the story he told, anyway. The truth was, the day Dezserahhe was born, he and his wife Eirin had discovered a piece of the puzzle about their firstborn, Nehenarah. She was the  _Dovahkiir_ , the Dragon Child, destined to marry some unknown being who spoke to the girl telepathically, calling her his beautiful wife. She was the Spirit Mother of Dragonkind. Nehenarah's parents had absolutely no idea what that meant yet. The girl hadn't spoken about the Ghost Man and the voice she heard in many years, however, to Fjornir and Eirin's relief.

Lucia and Basira never teased Nehenarah about her name. They, like most children, were jealous, in fact, and wished their parents had given them such unique names. The girls reminded Basira though that her name was in fact unique, at least in Skyrim, and also very pretty.

The three girls had grown up together and became fast friends, though mostly because there were no other similarly-aged girls in town. Sometimes Lucia and Basira stayed overnight in Nehenarah's large room in the basement of the mead hall. Nowadays Nehenarah's friends often mingled with the Companions instead of hiding in her bedroom merely  _wishing_  they were mingling. Unlike her girlfriends, who occasionally were too "girly" for her taste, Nehenarah never tired of the company of her best friend since infancy, Brynjarr. She actually expected him to come around to visit her later that day with some news.

* * *

"Eirin, do you remember what Alva said about me?" Fjornir asked his wife. "That I'm supposed to be the son of High King Istlod?"

" _Bastard_  son," she corrected. "What about it?"

"I spoke with Jarl Vignar the other day, and he offhandedly mentioned that Jarl Ulfric is requesting that all Jarls with young, unmarried daughters send information about them to his steward, to be considered for marriage to his son." Fjornir lay next to his wife in their bed in Jorrvaskr with his arm wrapped around her from behind.

"You are not a Jarl," she said.

"No, but I am several others things..."

Eirin chuckled. "No disagreement, here."

Fjornir gave her bare rear-end a light smack, and they laughed.

"But seriously,  _Dyra_. Perhaps Alva – my mother, if she was indeed that – was telling the truth. One of our daughters could be Queen someday."

"There's no way to prove it, you said."

"No, but, a marriage between the children of the High King and the Dragonborn...," he kissed her neck, "may be worth talking to Ulfric about. And then if he likes that idea, I can mention what Alva told me." He laughed. "Although... now that I think about it, Ulfric may  _not_  like knowing about my possible heritage, and may not want to mix royal lines, considering..."

Eirin frowned. She never quite liked Ulfric. Something about him seemed too uptight, particularly after that day in the Palace of the Kings when he threatened her to stay away from Fjornir. "Alright, talk to him. Not about 'Narah, though," she said.

"Why not? She hasn't spoken of that voice in years. Perhaps it was a fate that will never happen."

"I don't think so,  _Bear._ I think whoever is waiting for her... I think they're just biding their time. But that's not why I don't want you talking to Ulfric about her."

"No?" Fjornir asked.

Eirin turned onto her back. She looked up at her strikingly handsome husband. His full, red-brown beard was speckled gray, as was the brown hair at his temples. He even had a thin silver streak starting from the left side of his forehead, which Eirin found positively charming. Fjornir leaned down to kiss her, unable to resist her big brown eyes and full pink lips. Eirin ran her fingers over his beard and looked into his grey-green eyes. "I think 'Narah and Brynjarr will end up together," she said.

"Really?"

"Haven't you noticed? The two have been practically inseparable their entire lives. And now, Brynjarr lives in Whiterun. I just hope... I hope he's the one. The one that she is meant to be with. Otherwise..." She bit her lip.

"Trouble," Fjornir said.

"Yes, trouble. Since no one has told us what her fate as 'Spirit Mother to Dragonkind' means, why someone had been speaking to her in her mind from such a young age, who it is she is supposed to marry... We weren't able to help that fate come to pass. I just worry that fate, as it usually does, will do as it pleases, and break people's hearts along the way."

"As it did your heart?," he asked softly.

Eirin kissed her husband. "But at least I found you, in the end."

* * *

Nehenarah reclined on her large bed. In the privacy of her bedroom in Jorrvaskr, she talked with Brynjarr, who sat facing her on the foot of the bed.

"Father wants me to go to Windhelm with him. Supposed to be big celebrations in honor of the King and the tenth anniversary of the rebuilding of Helgen," Brynjarr said.

"My parents want me to go to Windhelm, too," said Nehenarah. "Ma even bought me a new dress. I don't know why I have to go. And I really don't want to wear a stupid dress."

"Our parents are all old comrades of King Ulfric, from the war. Besides, it was your parents that helped reestablish Helgen, right? I suppose it would look bad if you did not go." Brynjarr took a bite out of his apple. "Are your siblings going, too?"

"I think so, at least Dez will. She is the one who  _wants_  to go." Nehenarah finished braiding one clump of hair and moved on to another. She decided to see how she looked with her entire head covered in long, brown braids.

"It might be nice, for us to go to a big royal party together," Brynjarr said. His bright blue eyes sparkled.

"With our parents...," Nehenarah added.

"True, but we can probably sneak away and explore the palace or something." He took another bite of the apple.

Nehenarah shrugged and continued to braid her hair. She was annoyed that Brynjarr had cut his own hair short a few years ago. She had enjoyed braiding his long blonde tresses.

Brynjarr finished eating his apple, tossed the core in a waste basket, and cleared his throat. "I think my father is having an affair with the King."

Nehenarah's hands froze at the side of her head as she stopped braiding and stared at her friend. "What?" She made a dissenting face. "I doubt it. He was married to  _your mother._ "  _And in love with_ my _mother,_  she thought.

"Yeah, but that was a long time ago... And Father has known the King since he was eighteen, when he joined the Stormcloaks." Brynjarr looked down at his idle hands. "And I told you how he's always going off somewhere every few months. Also... I saw some letters."

"Letters?" Nehenarah recommenced braiding her hair.

"To my father, from someone whose initials are 'U. S.'. Love letters."

"Love letters! Really!? What did they say?"

"Oh, um, stuff like, 'I miss you', and...," Brynjarr blushed, "some more intimate things."

Nehenarah grinned. "Go  _Ralof_ ," she said.

Brynjarr scowled. "This isn't a good thing, 'Narah."

The girl laughed. "Why not? Everyone has a right to love."

"Not with someone else's husband. And not when it's the King!" Brynjarr had a short temper lately, Nehenarah noticed. Tonight was no exception.

"Calm down, B'. It's none of our business."

"It is if someone finds out, and my father's and my reputation are harmed."

"I wouldn't worry so much. Your father is a veteran Stormcloak who is favored by the High King, Ulfric _Stormcloak._ And  _you_ were the youngest person to join the Companions that anyone can remember." She finished another braid, tied it with a small string, then reached for a clump of hair further back on her head. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, my friend."

The young man sighed. "Anyway, Father wants to leave in three days. He will travel up here and we will take a horse-drawn cart to Windhelm. I suppose you and your family should join us."

"Probably," she confirmed.

Brynjarr rubbed his sore shoulder that he strained earlier that day practicing with a sword. "Why are you braiding your hair?"

"Because I wanted to see how it would look." She held the unfinished braid and looked up at her friend. "What do you think?"

He made a face that conveyed uncertainty. "Are you going to keep it that way for Windhelm?"

"Maybe," Nehenarah replied.

"It looks... non-royal," he professed.

"I am not royal," she said.

"We'll be in the company of royals."

"So?"

Brynjarr sighed. "I'll just let your mother nag you about it."

The pair laughed.

"By the way, Aela and Haming are going hunting tomorrow out west. Want to join us?" he asked.

"Sure," Nehenarah replied. "Maybe I can try to shoot a deer with my lightning." Brynjarr and his father were the only non-family members that knew about her ability.

"That would ruin its hide," Brynjarr reminded her.

"Then I'll buy Aela a new hide," she said. Brynjarr gave her that look, the one that said  _Money can't solve all your problems_. She ignored it. "I'm out of practice. And bored. I'll only try it on one deer, I promise, and only if Haming and Aela aren't watching."

* * *

"We should start thinking about a match for Hungeirr," Silda said to Ulfric over dinner.

Ulfric's oldest child and only son was fourteen, and looked exactly like the Queen, Silda – thin, but strong, and blonde with dark blue eyes. Their daughter, Bera, was the spitting image of Ulfric's father, her namesake - dark blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. She was eleven, and feisty. Ulfric's relationship with Silda had become of late more of a polite acquaintanceship. Though Ulfric kept his affair with Ralof secret, he had a feeling his daughter knew. She seemed to know everything that she wasn't supposed to.

"Mm," Ulfric nodded, then swallowed. "Jorleif has been putting together dossiers for several years now. For Bera, too."

"Dossiers?" the Queen asked.

"Information. About all eligible, suitable matches in the country. Jarl families, mostly." Ulfric took a large bite out of his elk steak.

Silda raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you chose me?"

"Yes," Ulfric said plainly before taking a sip of wine.

The Queen slumped back in her chair. Her hands rested on her heavily-pregnant belly. Ulfric had wondered how she became pregnant, considering how he rarely had sex with her over the last few years, but had said nothing. Soon enough, he would have some answers and know the truth about the origins of his children. Until then, however, he would play ignorant, and enjoy the festivities that would be underway soon in his city. "How many others were there to choose from?" she asked.

"Not many," said Ulfric. "About ten, I think."

"We used to have fun, back then..." She was referring to their sexual play which commenced the first night they met. In truth, she missed it, the roughness. Ulfric treated her like a butterfly ever since their first child had been stillborn.

Ulfric stared at her with a mouthful of meat. He knew what Silda meant. His wife had relished being sexually dominated. He swallowed the steak. "I'm too old for that stuff, now," he lied.

Silda's face remained expressionless. She had long resigned to the fact that Ulfric was having an affair with her old comrade Ralof, and therefore knew Ulfric only kept her around for the sake of their son, who adored her. Bera, to Ulfric's concern, preferred the company of her nursemaid and governess.

There was never any real romantic love between Silda and Ulfric, but they had started out on good, friendly terms. However, ever since her lover Brond disappeared, she had been more careful in her indiscretions. Should she be found guilty of any crime and banished or executed, her hometown Dawnstar and her family would no longer receive special favor and financial aid from the King. Silda therefore kept her mouth shut when it came to her unhappiness and knowledge of Ulfric's own indiscretions. She would handle her maltreatment as she always had done, by secretly finding her own happiness in the arms of others, and by exacting revenge in subtle, undetectable ways.

* * *

The following day's hunting trip was successful, and the group hauled back to camp three does. When Haming asked how the one doe Brynjarr was carrying had gotten scorched on its face, he lied and said he found it like that. The arrow through its neck was the ostensible cause of death.

Brynjarr thought Nehenarah had way too much fun field-dressing the animals. She reminded him of Aela in that way. Luckily, the doe she hit with her lightning had a perfect hide aside from its head. She had hit it directly in the eye, which Brynjarr guessed sizzled its brain.

The group ate a dinner that night of roasted venison wrapped in garlic leaves. The remaining meat was being smoked over their campfire, and Aela showed Nehenarah how to prepare the hides. Haming and Brynjarr set up the tents.

Later in the evening, Haming and Aela were talking about Companion things while Brynjarr and Nehenarah talked in one of the tents. When it became late, Haming walked over to where Nehenarah was.

"'Narah, you will share a tent with Aela," Haming ordered.

Nehenarah was laying on her stomach aside Brynjarr in a pup tent. "What for, Haming? I'm already comfortable."

"Because I said so," her older brother replied.

"That's not a reason," she countered.

"I'm fairly certain our parents would agree with me."

"I'm fairly certain it doesn't matter what I do. You just don't want to share a tent with Aela." Nehenarah smiled.

"Of course I don't. What would Mila think?"

"Mila would not think anything, considering it's just a tent, and we're just camping, and we're just going to sleep tonight. Right?"

Aela's voice carried from across the camp. "It's alright, Haming, let them be. I'll keep watch by the fire. _Someone_  has to watch out for you pups." She was referring to all three of them.

Haming turned to watch Aela place her bedroll in the center of the camp, and then turned back to his sister and Brynjarr. "Fine," he said, pointing his finger at Brynjarr, "just... behave." He stomped off to the other tent.

Nehenarah looked at Brynjarr, and the two laughed. She reached forward and tied the front tent flaps closed. Aela was sitting not too far away, likely within earshot, but Haming's tent was further away. The sound of a rushing river muted most soft chatter, however, so the pair felt comfortable talking quietly without anyone hearing.

"He's protecting you," Brynjarr said.

"From what? You?" Nehenarah asked.

"Yes, me." Brynjarr looked her directly in the eyes, his gaze lingering.

Nehenarah let out a little laugh and a faint snort sounded, which made her laugh harder.

"What's so funny?" Brynjarr asked.

"Haming. Haming is funny," she whispered. "I've never seen him like that before."

"Maybe because the last time you and I went camping with him, we were twelve."

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked. She yawned, sat up, then rolled her knapsack to use as a pillow. She lowered herself back down on her side, facing away from her friend.

He sat and watched her for a few moments. "Nothing," Brynjarr said. "Nevermind." He then lay down as well, facing her. His fingers moved to his left wrist on which he wore a bracelet with a single bone bead that his father had given him at birth. Rolling the bead against his skin had become a habit whenever he was frustrated. "Goodnight."

"'Night," Nehenarah replied.

* * *

Arngeir sat in silence with his eyes closed in the courtyard at High Hrothgar. He had meditated in this way every evening for the last fifteen years, ever since first hearing the voice of the Old One. The voice spoke to him occasionally, though not every night, and had always reassured him that the prophecy was well under way, but the time for action of the Greybeards had not yet come.

This night, however, the voice sounded angry. When the monk asked, telepathically, why the Old One was upset, the voice replied with a single word: " _Fahntahk_."


	2. New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynjarr makes a terrible mistake…
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: Ellie Goulding “Atlantis”, The Spill Canvas "Secret Oath"]

_Brynjarr and Nehenarah were running through the forests south of Whiterun, him carrying his bow and arrows and her readying her lightning bolts. It started to rain. The warm summer day turned ice cold with the wind whipping around their bodies high up in the hills. The pair found a rock shelter and huddled together to get out of the rain. Someone made a small campfire. They wrapped the thick hide of a snow bear around their bodies and shivered. Brynjarr felt the warmth of his friend's body pressed against his, and his shivering subsided._

Nehenarah woke slowly. She felt confined and overheated, despite a cold rain tapping on the hide tent above her. In her daze, she forgot where she was. The light of the campfire outside of her tent produced barely enough light to take in her surroundings. When fully awake, she realized Brynjarr had his arm wrapped around her and had covered them both with his blanket, allowing their bodies to touch. Brynjarr must have felt her stirring, because he started to move. Nehenarah heard him moan softly as he pressed his body harder against hers. As her friend's hand drifted up her body and cupped her small breast, she stiffened. It wasn't until she felt something out of place pressing against her backside that she realized what was happening, or perhaps what Brynjarr was trying to make happen.

She shot up into a sitting position and shoved Brynjarr back to his side of the tent, whispering his name. The jolt of pressure against his chest woke him from his dream. It took him but a moment to realize what he had probably done. Brynjarr look up at his friend in horror, speechless.

“What are you doing!?” Nehenarah whispered harshly.

Brynjarr's jaw lay open. “I-I... I was dreaming. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.”

Nehenarah caught a glimpse of Brynjarr's tented hide trousers and immediately looked away. “You... you _groped_ me!” She kept her angry voice as quiet as she could.

“I know. I'm sorry. It just happened.” Brynjarr looked away from his friend and quickly covered his body with his blanket.

“It just _happened_?” She turned back to look at him. “Since when does something like that just _happen_!? It never has before!” She suddenly felt cold sitting so far away from her friend's body and no longer under any blankets. She shivered and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders.

Brynjarr looked at Nehenarah. He wanted nothing more than to touch her face, caress her skin, kiss her lips. He had no idea how to make any of that happen and it ate away at his insides.

The tapping of the rain became a harder thudding. The light from the campfire dimmed and the two teenagers heard Aela muttering curses and scrambling around. Nehenarah watched amber light outside of the hide tent glow and dim as the campfire flickered, struggling to stay lit. She was not watching Brynjarr, and could not anticipate his hand reaching up to grasp hers. The touch startled her, and her body jerked slightly. She could barely see Brynjarr. The contours of his body and the expression on his face were swamped in darkness. His hand squeezed hers. She sat there, frozen, unsure of what to do. She wanted to run out of the tent, but did not want to be soaked to the bone by the rain. Her breathing quickened in pace as her nerves got the best of her. _What in all of Tamriel is he doing!?,_ she thought to herself.

The campfire finally died in the rainstorm and Nehenarah saw nothing but black. Her heart pounded. Aela's curses became more audible. She felt Brynjarr's hand squeeze tighter. She swallowed hard. “W-why are you saying nothing?” she asked her friend.

His hand remained clamped onto hers. “I'm not sure what to say,” he said. His voice then was deeper than usual.

Nehenarah heard him move, and thought he was sitting up, possibly to be face-to-face with her, even though they could not see each other. Not being able to see him was the most terrifying aspect of the situation. She could read Brynjarr like a book – his eyes, his body language – but without seeing him at all, it was impossible to know what her friend was thinking. Nehenarah realized she would have to rely on touch and sound. _Yes,_ she thought, _I can feel his breath on my face._ Her free hand grasped the forearm above the hand that held her, intent to wordlessly tell him to let go of her. Instead, he held on tighter, and she felt the muscles of his forearm ripple.

Her attention was diverted and she did not notice Brynjarr's breath on her face growing denser, closer. Before she could react, she felt her friend's lips pressed to hers, and her hand that Brynjarr held, pressed against a disturbing bulge. Nehenarah squealed in shock and pushed her body away from her friend. She immediately fumbled for the tie that loosely held the tent flaps closed.

“'Narah,” she heard her friend say, “wait....” As a hand fell on her arm she pulled the tie loose and ran out into the torrential rain towards nowhere, passing Aela who had fashioned a lean-to for herself.

The huntress stood, partially immobilized by confusion. “Where are you going!?” she shouted after Nehenarah. “Don't go into the woods by yourself!” She spat out a curse and fumbled for her weapons. “Stupid girl.”

Brynjarr crawled out of the tent and shouted after his friend. He looked at Aela.

“What did you do?” Aela asked Brynjarr.

He was grateful that his superior couldn't see him blushing. “Where did she go?” he asked.

“That way,” she said, pointing in the general direction that she saw Nehenarah flee. “Come on,” she ordered.

Haming woke when he heard shouting. He opened the tent flap to see nothing but darkness and the faint glitter of falling rain. Lightning lit up the sky and he confirmed that the camp was empty. Haming was utterly confused, and worried.

Aela and Brynjarr ran into the woods, shouting after Nehenarah. After no sign or sound of the girl, Brynjarr felt terrified that some frostspider or bear had found her. He heard the crackle of lightning and looked up, but saw nothing.

“What was that?” Aela shouted. She was looking to her left. Again, the crackle sounded, and a bright white light emerged deeper in the woods. Aela bolted in the direction of the light and Brynjarr followed.

 _She's there!_ Brynjarr thought. As the two ran through the woods they began to hear snarling and growling. Brynjarr was certain he would find pieces of Nehenarah's body surrounded by a pack of wolves. Aela stopped running, strung her bow, and loosed an arrow. Brynjarr heard a yelp and ran up to Aela's side, straining to see in the darkness. Aela loosed another arrow. Another yelp. The growling and snarling ceased.

Brynjarr thought he saw a faint yellow glow ahead, and walked passed Aela to track it down. “'Narah?” he called.

“I'm here,” Brynjarr heard her say. She was far ahead.

Brynjarr ran in the direction of the voice. He nearly crashed into a boulder. The yellow glow continued and became a beacon guiding him to his friend. Finally he saw Nehenarah, her face illuminated under a rock overhang. He ran to her side and wrapped his arms around her, not realizing until he did so that perhaps that was the absolute worst thing to do at that moment, but he didn't care, and held her tight.

“I'm alright, Brynjarr, really.” Her voice had a tinge of annoyance as she pushed his arms away from her.

“Why would you run off like that!?” Aela yelled at the girl. “What if I hadn't seen you? And unarmed! Wolf bait.”

“I'm _fine_ ,” she said. The yellow glow continued to emerge from her palm, lighting the area.

“Alright. I don't care why you ran off, just don't do it again,” the huntress scolded the girl.

“I won't,” Nehenarah agreed. Brynjarr thought she sounded angry. He assumed she was angry at him.

“Well come on, then,” Aela said, “maybe I can get you back in one piece.”

Back in their tent, Nehenarah lay on her side facing her friend with her back pressed tightly against the wall of the tent. She stared at Brynjarr in the darkness. She was still cold in her soaked clothes, even when wrapped tight in her blanket. She scolded herself for not using her Healing light to see in the dark before. She could have seen her friend, seen the look on his face and told him to stop before he went and did something stupid. She told herself she was too nervous to remember to use her skill at the time, and that she would never make that mistake again.

She slipped an arm out from under her blanket and lit up the tent. Brynjarr opened his eyes and looked at her. The yellow light glowed and swirled around her hand. “Why?” she asked in a rough voice.

“Why did you _run_?” he asked just as harshly.

“Because...,” she couldn't find the words to say. “Because... you're practically my brother!” she spat out in a stinging voice.

“I'm _not_ your brother!”

“Didn't your father ever tell you!?”

Brynjarr was confused by the question. “Huh? What about my father?”

Nehenarah's whisper became more soft. “He never told you... about my mother?”

Brynjarr squinted at the light. “No.”

“She was engaged to your father, when they were about our age.”  
  
Brynjarr stared at Nehenarah. “What? Don't be ridiculous.”

“It's true. Ma didn't mean to tell me, I think, but it slipped out one day. We could have been siblings, B'! We can't... we can't... _do that_.”

The boy frowned, then spoke in a calm voice. “But we're _not_ siblings, 'Narah. Not at all.”

Nehenarah suddenly felt nervous. She realized that Brynjarr had changed. She tried to recall the previous years to think about when the change happened, and wondered if it was that year he stopped letting her braid his hair and later cut it short. She felt her stomach fill with nervous little butterflies. She stopped letting out the Healing light from her hand, and sighed.

“You can't just... do... that... touching and.... You just can't!” She spoke in a harsh whisper again.

“I'm sorry,” Brynjarr said softly. “I won't do it again.”

Upon hearing those words, faced with the prospect of Brynjarr never, ever kissing her again, Nehenarah wondered if that was what she really wanted. She said nothing, however, and the two friends eventually found sleep again, laying far apart.


	3. Wine and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn’s family and Ralof and his son travel to Windhelm for the celebrations…
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: T.V. Carpio “I Want To Hold Your Hand”, The Waifs “Flesh and Blood”, Lana Del Rey “Dark Paradise”, Tori Amos “Lust”]

Brynjarr watched Nehenarah as she braided the long, dark auburn hair of her younger sister Dezserahhe. Though he wasn't surprised that Nehenarah had elected to sit next to her mother and sister instead of him, as she normally would have, he wasn't surprised. Since the hunting trip, Nehenarah effectively avoided Brynjarr. She was angry at him for what he had done and how he had acted. She told no one about what really happened that night, however, assuring Haming she just had to pass water very badly, which explained why she ran from her tent into the woods. Then wolves found her and she panicked, which explained the rest of the events. Haming had given her a look that told her he did not believe a word she said, but he did not comment further about it to her.

“I wonder where we'll be staying the night,” Eirin said.

“Likely in the west wing of the palace,” Ralof said. He sat the farthest from Eirin in the horse-drawn cart, doing his best to avoid looking as awkward as he always felt around her. “Over the years the guestrooms had been upgraded with proper bedding. Real nice. Certainly Ulfric has reserved beds for the Dragonborn and his family.”

“The children too?” Eirin asked Ralof.

“Not sure,” he said, “perhaps in the east wing, where there are rooms with multiple beds. There are bound to be several dozen children there. Though Brynjarr and I will share the one bed in the west wing.” Ralof smiled at his son and mussed his hair. Brynjarr play-punched his father, then fixed his hair. He immediately looked to Nehenarah to see if she was watching him. She wasn't.

“Will we meet the Prince?” Dezserahhe asked giddily.

Ralof smiled. “Most likely. And the Princess, too. She's your age, I believe.”

Dezserahhe grinned.

Eirin watched Ralof's expressions. “You've visited Windhelm often, then?” she asked him.

“Several times over the years, yes. Ulfric is one of my closest friends.”

Brynjarr heard his father say those words and wondered if he truly was the only other person in that cart that knew the truth.

Nehenarah was busy wrapping two long braids around the crown of her sister's head, using pins to keep them in place. “I will have to redo this tomorrow,” she told her sister.

“That looks nice, Dez. Well done, 'Narah,” Eirin told her daughters.

Nehenarah smiled and sat back against the cart side. She gazed into the distance, taking in their surroundings.

Brynjarr continued watching Nehenarah. He was annoyed with her, if he was to be honest with himself. There was no reason for her to ignore him this blatantly. They were friends and he was determined that nothing was going to change that, not even his true feelings for her. He had spoken to no one about the events that transpired in the woods, sought no advice. He had no idea how to fix what he had broken, and no idea how to approach Nehenarah now, not even as a friend.

He looked at his friend longingly. Her mother had made Nehenarah undo all the braids that had covered her head, and now her long brown hair was hanging in long kinky waves that flew around in the breeze. She was wearing hide traveling clothes. Nothing special, but they were tight-fitting and the front of the shirt hung low on her chest. Brynjarr realized he must be staring at his friend's breasts and he looked up at her face to find Nehenarah glaring back at him. Her one green and one brown eye smouldered.

Brynjarr wondered how it was possible to feel horrible, guilty, and miserable, all the while feeling inexplicably happy. He had done it, after all, he had kissed Nehenarah, something he had wanted to do for years but never could. In that moment in the cart could barely fight the urge to move over to her, grab her face and kiss her, even with her parents looking on and Nehenarah staring daggers at him. Instinct, however, told him that if he was to regain Nehenarah's friendship, he would have to all but ignore her, just as she has been him. He looked away from his friend's searing gaze and looked south at nothing in particular.

Eirin saw the entire awkward exchange and immediately knew something had happened between her daughter and the boy. By the way Brynjarr was sulking, she had a pretty good idea at what that something was.

–

The re-introductions between Ulfric Stormcloak and his wife Silda, Ralof, Eirin and Fjornir were anything but easy. Superficially they were all smiles, but Eirin could feel the hate emanating from Silda and wondered if the woman still held a grudge against Fjornir after so many years. She even wondered if the Queen was actually jealous of her, having married the Dragonborn. She ignored the uneasy feeling and introduced the royal family to her two eldest daughters.

Hungeirr did as his father taught him and kissed the hands of both Nehenarah and Dezserahhe. Bera, who was indeed Dezserahhe's age, curtseyed and smiled at the Dragonborn's daughters. Unlike her brother, who was stiff and subdued, Bera was elated. She could not wait to get to know the two girls before her.

Brynjarr, standing off to the side next to Ralof, watched the encounter between the Prince and his friend. He had a sudden urge to break the Prince's face.

Speaking quietly away from the rest of the group, Fjornir whispered to Ulfric that the two of them should talk soon about Hungeirr. Ulfric understood, and agreed.

After the introductions of the Dragonborn's family, the King and Ralof grasped forearms excitedly, their fingers lingering. Ralof then introduced Brynjarr to Ulfric and Silda. Ulfric looked down at Brynjarr and smiled broadly, then grasped the boy's forearm in greeting. Brynjarr felt uneasy in the presence of the King. He felt he would have anyway, since the King was an impressive man that towered over him and whose enormous hand practically wrapped around the entire breadth of Brynjarr's forearm, but adding the knowledge that something was going on between this man and his father made him doubly uneasy. He wondered if the Queen knew.

Brynjarr realized that Prince Hungeirr and Princess Bera were escorting both Nehenarah and Dezserahhe away from the group, but elected to remain with the adults. If Nehenarah wanted him to leave her alone, he would do just that.

–

“So, Dragonborn, you wish to affiance one of your daughters to my son?” Ulfric asked Fjornir in a calm voice. The two men have not always been on the best of terms, but ever since the riots in Windhelm were quelled with his help, Ulfric decided the Dragonborn was an honorable man.

“I would like to at least broach the subject with you,” Fjornir replied.

“I assume you're thinking of your eldest?”

Fjornir shook his head. “Not Nehenarah, actually. Dezserahhe, my second-born.”

“Her age?”

“Eleven,” he replied. “Hungeirr is nearly fifteen, yes?”

“Mm,” the King acknowledged that Fjornir was correct. He stroked his strawberry-blonde-and-grey beard. “Not a bad age difference.”

“Naturally, I would only _suggest_ the betrothal to Dezserahhe. She would have to comply on her own accord.” Fjornir watched Ulfric for any sign of dissent, but found none. “However, I don't suspect she will protest to at least letting the Prince court her. She has the mindset of someone who... could perhaps fit in well within high society.”

“And your eldest does not?”

Fjornir grinned. “Not at all. That is, if being a lady in high society means wearing a dress all the time. I fear Nehenarah would rather walk around naked.”

“Hmph,” Ulfric exclaimed in amusement. The King walked over to his desk in his private chambers and invited Fjornir to sit across from him. After several moments of silence and of Ulfric stroking his beard, he spoke again. “The truth is, Fjornir,” Ulfric looked over his shoulder to make sure they were indeed alone, “I'm not entirely certain that Hungeirr is my son.”

Fjornir's jaw dropped. “Really? What makes you suspect such a thing?”

Ulfric's hand wiped down his face in frustration. “Silda was having an affair with a palace guard when our first-born was conceived, and possibly even during the pregnancy. The child was stillborn, however.” Ulfric frowned. “A boy.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Ulfric.”

The King grunted quietly, his eyes focused on a quill that he spun against the desk with his left hand. “I don't know about after that, however. If Silda had affairs, I mean. The children certainly could be mine, and I'm certain Bera is, but....” Ulfric sat up straighter, shifting about uncomfortably. “Wuunferth, my court mage, was working on a spell that could tell me whether or not my children and I are related, but he passed on several years ago. I have a new court mage, a young Breton woman, but she is nowhere near as skilled in the particular area of magic that Wuunferth was.” Ulfric sighed.

Fjornir scratched his own beard as he thought about the various wizards and mages he knew. “I may know someone who could help you, actually.”

–

“Where did my sister go?” Nehenarah asked the Prince.

“Off with Bera somewhere, likely to find others their age.” The Prince had eventually led Nehenarah to a room full of teenagers, many of them older than herself and the Prince, and all of them drinking from wine bottles. The Prince walked over to a table, grabbed a green glass bottle, uncorked it, and handed it to Nehenarah. “Spiced wine from Solitude,” he said, smiling.

Nehenarah gazed into his dark blue eyes. “Thank you,” she said before taking her first sip of spiced wine. “Wow, this is very good.” She sipped the wine again.

“It better be, for the price.” A half-grin crossed his lips.

Hungeirr walked her over to his friends and introduced everyone to her. The crowd was delighted to meet the first-born of the Dragonborn. Nehenarah felt uneasy. She was used to being treated as such, but being used to something and liking it are not the same thing.

One of Hungeirr's female friends noticed Nehenarah's unease and walked up to her. “You don't have to be shy here... Nehenarah, was it? Everyone in this room is the child of a somebody.” The red-haired girl smiled. “You have an interesting name. Where does it come from?”

“My father says it's Dragonspeak.”

“The Dragonborn knows Dragonspeak?,” a very tall older boy asked excitedly. “Can he talk to dragons?”

“I don't know, maybe,” Nehenarah answered.

“I bet he can. That's so cool,” the young man said, and others around him agreed. “I'm Hrodlif. That's my sister, Fridhr,” he said, pointing to the red-haired girl who had first spoken to Nehenarah. “Jarl Dengeir of Falkreath is our grandfather.”

Nehenarah had no idea if she should bow or grasp their forearms in a greeting, so she elected to simply say, “A pleasure to meet you,” and smiled. The response appeared to be acceptable, and she was relieved.

Hrodlif also had red hair. His was braided down each side, and nearly reached his shoulders. His brilliant green eyes hypnotized Nehenarah. “So,” he said, “enjoying the spiced wine?” When he grinned, his eyes sparkled.

–

Brynjarr retired early to his bedroom. His father was elsewhere. He was far from tired, but was socially exhausted. He examined the many books on a tall shelf in the room, and pulled a book unknown to him titled _Lycanthropic Legends of Skyrim._ The unknown word in the title intrigued him, and he always enjoyed reading about legends.

–

Ralof pressed his lips against Ulfric's. Alone, at last, in the secret room Ulfric had built for them, the lovers were able to embrace.

“Four months is too long,” Ulfric said as he shifted out of his clothing. “Your boy is old enough now to be on his own, you should just move here.” He helped Ralof remove the last of his own clothing. He bent down to kiss Ralof again.

Ralof broke away from the embrace. “And do what, be your pet? I have not changed my mind about this, Ulfric. I'd have nothing to do here but sit on my ass.”

“I would give you a position. Some sort of advisor, or perhaps part of my personal guard.” Ulfric brushed his hand against Ralof's bare chest. “I need you here, Ralof. Who knows how many years I have left....”

“Don't talk like that,” Ralof said as he grasped Ulfric's hand then kissed the palm.

“It's true. You know it is...,” the King said softly. His other hand cupped Ralof's cheek. “I'm tired of hiding.”

Ralof felt Ulfric's breath on his mouth. “I will stay longer this time. Brynjarr can return to Whiterun with Fjornir's family.”

“Stay forever,” Ulfric pleaded.

Ralof squeezed Ulfric's hand, then kissed his lover, pulling him down on top of him on the bed. Ulfric moved his lips to suck the flesh on the slope of Ralof's neck.

Between moans, Ralof whispered to the King, “Alright”.

–

In a quiet, dark corner of the palace, Hrodlif pressed his body onto Nehenarah's. Their tongues and hands explored and teased. Several bottles of wine later, Nehenarah's head was spinning, but Hrodlif's mouth on hers kept her centered. Her body tingled and felt warm in unfamiliar places. The touch of the handsome young man enhanced the tingling brought on by the wine. She never wanted to stop kissing the gorgeous Jarl's grandson. She did not mind that his hands caressed her breasts over her dress, nor that she could feel a telling pressure against her thigh. She was letting go of the tensions of the last few days, and she was loving every moment. Hrodlif ground his body against hers, occasionally squeezing and massaging her buttocks. When he kissed her neck, she giggled, partly from the wine and partly from the new sensation.

She felt his breath on her skin. “I know a place where we can go,” he said, then nibbled her earlobe.

“Take me,” she said.

Hrodlif led the way, holding the girl's hand while walking swiftly down the hall. They stopped in front of a closed door. When Hrodlif opened it, Nehenarah saw nothing. “Come on,” he said, turning to her.

She giggled. “What is that, a closet?”

“A store room, yes. Come on,” he smiled. He grabbed a torch from a wall sconce and placed it on a sconce inside the small room, then closed the door. Hrodlif immediately removed his shirt, then pulled Nehenarah to him for another kiss. He squeezed Nehenarah's breasts harder now. His hands roved up and down her body, aching to reach beneath the blue fabric. Reaching down and grasping her backside, Hrodlif lifted Nehenarah and placed her on a storage barrel. The perfect height. While kissing her, Hrodlif began to undo the ties of his trousers.

Nehenarah began to feel ill. She pushed Hrodlif back from her when she thought she might vomit. “I think.... I think I've had too much wine.” She swallowed hard.

“I've definitely had too much,” the young man grinned. Hrodlif fumbled with his own trouser ties. They were knotted too tightly. He leaned forward and kissed Nehenarah's neck again, sucking hard.

“ _Helt.”_ The whispering voice caressed her brain.

“What?” Nehenarah asked. Her head spun again.

“I said I had too much wine, too.” Hrodlif's trousers finally fell to the stone floor. He reached for Nehenarah's hand and pressed it against the bulging fabric of his loincloth, simultaneously cupping one of the girl's breasts.

“ _Helt,_ _dii kiim._ _”_ The voice whispered again.

“What? I don't understand.” Nehenarah raised a hand to her now throbbing head.

“Here, I'll lay you down,” Hrodlif said, lifting Nehenarah off the barrel then laying her down on his clothing. He leaned in next to her, one hand massaging a breast and the other crawling up her inner thigh, under her dress.

“ _Dovahkiir!”_ The voice pierced her brain like a shiv through the ear.

“Stop shouting,” she whined.

“What? I'm not,” Hrodlif said. His hands stopped their movements.

“ _Geyn daar baanahk, zoknugaar!”_

“Stop it,” she groaned, massaging her temple.

“I'm not doing anything,” said Hrodlif.

Nehenarah opened her eyes, then shot upright. He eyes were wide with realization and fear. “Oh, no,” she said.

“What? What's wrong?” The young man was at once annoyed with this disturbance and genuinely concerned for the girl.

Nehenarah stood up and straightened out her dress, but nearly fell over when the room started to spin.

“Where are you going?” Hrodlif asked angrily.

“I need... I need to go....” She opened the store room door and fled. She stumbled around the dim hallway, trying to remember how to get back to the upper west wing where her parent's room was. Eventually she found the right door, then swung it open, her body nearly falling in after it. When she looked up, she expected to see her parents asleep in bed, but instead saw her least favorite person in the world, staring up at her in confusion with a book rested in his lap.


	4. A Dagger to the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes words hurt…
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: Kinnie Starr “Alright”, Rosi Golan “Come Around”, Dashboard Confessional “The Shade of Poison Trees”, Feist “Fire in the Water”, Ellie Goulding “Holding On”, Korn “Tearjerker”]

“'Narah? What's wrong?” Brynjarr removed the book from his lap and sat up straight. The look on his friend's face terrified him. “What's happened?”

Nehenarah felt ill. She was dizzy, scared, and quite obviously drunk. Brynjarr was the last person she wanted to see at that moment, but standing in front of her best friend, she slowly began to realize how close she had come to having sex with a boy she barely knew. The tears came without warning. Her body started to shake in sobs. She was either unable or unwilling to fight off the embrace of Brynjarr's arms that wrapped around her as she fell to her knees.

Brynjarr held Nehenarah in silence for a long time. He was scared to move, scared to say anything, afraid he would frighten her away. When her sobbing quieted, he loosened his grip around Nehenarah's body and looked at her. Her face was a red, puffy, wet and snotty mess. He wiped dry her face with his sleeve, but still refrained from speaking. He feared anything he said could trigger more tears. Seeing her cry like this broke his heart, and he never wanted her to cry again. He waited for her to speak first, for her to offer the explanation for her distress.

Nehenarah sniffled, then finally looked at Brynjarr for the first time since her sobbing began. She suddenly felt horrible for hating her best friend the last few days. She knew he never meant any harm by what he had done in the tent, that perhaps he merely desired her, the way she had desired Hrodlif. But Brynjarr was her friend, her family. Breaching the platonic barrier had dissolved the pair's previous unspoken agreements and had forever altered their relationship. This corruption was the source of Nehenarah's anger. He had stolen her best friend from her, possibly forever. Staring into her friend's bright blue eyes, she was determined to rescue her lost friendship. She needed Brynjarr, her friend, more now than ever.

“It's back,” she whispered.

Brynjarr's brow furrowed. “What's back?”

Nehenarah sniffled again. “The voice.”

“Ghost Man?” Brynjarr whispered. He recalled the last memory of Nehenarah telling him about Ghost Man, the voice in her head. They were nine years old. After that day, she made no mention of the voice, and he assumed it had gone away. “Still talking Dragonspeak?” he asked.

Nehenarah nodded. “I heard it when...,” she looked away, “when I was... I was....” She realized she couldn't bring herself to tell Brynjarr what had happened with Hrodlif. She had so ardently refused Brynjarr, her best friend, what she had been so eager to give to a stranger. “I'm drunk,” she admitted to herself and to her friend.

“I can smell the wine,” he said in a soft, non-accusatory voice. His hand drifted from her shoulder to her arm. “Do you want to lay down?”

Nehenarah sniffled, and nodded. Brynjarr helped her stand and tucked her into the large bed. The girl was suddenly aware of Ralof's absence. “Where's your father?”

Brynjarr sighed. His shoulders hunched forward as he rested his fists against the mattress. He sat down on the bed at Nehenarah's feet. “I told you. He's having an affair with the King.”

Nehenarah frowned. She knew his father's actions upset Brynjarr. She raised her hand and held it out to her friend, flourishing her fingers, motioning for him to come closer to her. She had used the same hand signal their entire lives. Brynjarr crawled up next to her and leaned back against the headboard and pillow. Nehenarah rested her head on Brynjarr's shoulder.

Brynjarr was confused by Nehenarah's sudden thaw. He froze in place, resisting the instinct to wrap his arm around her. He distracted himself by talking. “Did you understand anything Ghost Man said?” he asked.

“No. I never did. And Pa never told me what any of it meant.”

“Maybe he's protecting you.”

“I don't want him to,” she said defiantly. “I don't need anyone's protection.”

“Like you didn't need Haming's protection from me?” Brynjarr asked, half-jokingly. Nehenarah did not respond. She covered herself tighter with the blankets, armoring herself against Brynjarr. “Don't worry,” he said, noticing Nehenarah deliberately shielding herself, “I won't make that mistake again.”

Nehenarah looked over at her friend. “Mistake?” She was surprised that she was hurt by Brynjarr's choice of words. She was a mistake. Brynjarr's mistake.

Brynjarr looked at Nehenarah. She appeared hurt, which confused him. She had loathed him for what he had done – of course his actions were a mistake. “I don't want to lose you, 'Narah. Our friendship.”

Nehenarah's head began to throb again. She rubbed her forehead, then lowered herself onto her side, facing her friend. Brynjarr did the same. The two friends gazed at one another in silence. She began to wonder if she had reacted too quickly that night in the tent. Perhaps she should have considered what Brynjarr had so obviously wanted. He didn't want to lose their friendship. Neither did she. She wondered if this was the type of friendship they had now. They were no longer children, after all. She thought about her actions with the handsome Hrodlif and wondered why she had refused to do that with Brynjarr. So long as they could remain friends, she thought there would be no harm in giving in. Nehenarah's arm broke through her cloth armor and reached out to Brynjarr. Her hand landed on his lower cheek. “You won't lose me,” she said softly. “You can't.” She took Brynjarr completely by surprise by leaning forward and kissing him.

Brynjarr was stunned by the sensation of her lips on his. She tasted of spices and wine. He had no idea how to react. He thought if he touched her, she would run away again. He kept his hands to himself and let Nehenarah kiss him. When her hand drifted down toward his waist, he slid away from her. His hand held her small wrist away from his body. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

“Finishing what you started.” Her voice had a husky quality unfamiliar to Brynjarr. She threw the blanket off of her body and dove into him, kissing Brynjarr forcefully.

Her body was still tingling from the wine and from her encounter with Hrodlif. The reappearance of Ghost Man had frightened her, and everything had felt wrong with Hrodlif, and her instinct had been to run. When she saw Brynjarr after opening the bedroom door, she realized she had made a horrible mistake, worse than what Brynjarr had done. She had been unprepared for her friend's actions in the tent, but even less so for this evening's events. Nehenarah realized she desired Brynjarr, both as a friend and something more. She trusted Brynjarr, even more than she trusted herself. Something inside of her ached, ached to be held by her friend. She wrapped a leg around Brynjarr and pressed her body against his.

“ _Helt,”_ Nehenarah heard Ghost Man's voice again. _“_ _Hi los dii._ _”_ She ignored it.

Brynjarr let go of her wrist. He was entranced by the sensation of Nehenarah's lips on his. His hand held onto her hip, and he finally returned her embrace. Their tongues met, flicking, probing, tasting. He felt Nehenarah's breasts press against his chest. He knew he should stop this, that Nehenarah was likely still drunk from the wine he tasted on her tongue, but he was helpless in her presence. It wasn't until her hand drifted lower and brushed against his growing desire that he broke out of his trance. Brynjarr lifted his lips from hers and tried to tell her to stop, but she moved forward again, silencing him. He gripped her wrist, trying to pull her hand away, but Nehenarah was surprisingly strong. She slid her hand up and down the fabric of Brynjarr's trousers. He felt a familiar sensation approaching and knew he should not have let things get this far. If Nehenarah had been angered by his actions inside the tent, she would surely despise him once she realized what he had let her do while she was drunk. He tried to pull her hand away again, but failed. The tension within him built too quickly, and he couldn't control his body's reaction.

Nehenarah felt Brynjarr's body shudder. She stopped kissing him and Brynjarr failed to stifle a moan. His muscles quivered several more times before he stilled. He avoided looking at Nehenarah and pulled a blanket over his waist, then turned away from her to lay on his side, curling into himself. Nehenarah was confused. Brynjarr had wanted her before, and now he had literally turned his back to her. “What's wrong?” she asked.

Several moments later, Brynjarr answered her. “We shouldn't have done that. _You_ shouldn't have done that. I promised you I wouldn't touch you again.”

“But...,” Nehenarah was terribly, terribly confused, “I thought... but you _didn't_ touch me. I touched _you_. I thought you wanted that....”

“Not like this,” he said. “You're drunk.”

“I'm not that drunk,” she protested.

“Three days ago you ran away from me for touching you, and now...,” he practically growled. He was thoroughly embarrassed, confused, and even a little angry.

Nehenarah wrapped her arm around Brynjarr's waist and slid her hand up his shirt. “I shouldn't have run, Brynjarr. I really shouldn't have. We can still be friends and do... things. We can.” She kissed his shoulder. Her fingers traced lines around his navel, feeling his sparse, soft hair.

Brynjarr flinched at the word “friends”. It stung his heart. Now it was he who wanted to run. “No,” he said. This time he was able to remove her hand from him.

“No?” she asked. “But....”

“'Narah... I....” He sat up but refrained from looking at his friend. He wanted to tell her, just say the words he had been longing to say for years, but they wouldn't form on his lips.

“What, Brynjarr?” His full name. Nehenarah said his full name and not his nickname. He didn't know what that meant.

Brynjarr moved to sit on the edge of the bed, looking away from the girl. “I just can't,” he said quietly. “I just can't, with you.”

“With me? What do you mean? I don't understand.” The tingling in her body faded and was replaced by an uncontrollable urge to sleep. She lay back down on the bed, far from Brynjarr. “Can I sleep here tonight?” she asked.

Brynjarr's shoulders stiffened, then slumped again. “Sure,” he said. He crawled under the covers and confined his body to the very edge of the bed. Moments later he heard the soft, drunken snores of his friend. After several hours of listening to Nehenarah breathe, he finally slept.

–

Alone in the court mage's chambers, Silda felt the child within her stir. Her husband was nowhere to be found. Silda assumed he was sequestered somewhere with Ralof. She had counted on this.

Silda walked around the candles that encircled the body of the Breton mage. Her death, quiet and peaceful, had come to her in her slumber. Silda picked up the dagger that she had used to slit the young woman's throat and wiped the blood on the mage's robes. She walked over to a shelf and found the final ingredient, Nightshade. The Queen rubbed the flowers' petals over the iron dagger, sprinkled the crushed sweet remnants over the body, kneeled, then took a deep breath. When she drove the dagger into the woman's chest, she began the invocation.

“Sweet Mother,” she spoke in a low voice, withdrawing the dagger, “sweet Mother,” she stabbed the chest again, “send your child unto me,” she began stabbing the mage's abdomen, “for the sins,” she stabbed an arm, “of the unworthy,” a leg, “must be baptized in blood,” the chest again, “and fear.” With a final thrust of the dagger, she stabbed the mage in the eye.


	5. Wasted Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nehenarah confronts her parents, and Ulfric confronts Silda.
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: Boyce Avenue “Use Somebody”, Smile Smile “Taking Its Toll”, Lifehouse “Broken”, Skylar Grey “Love the Way you Lie”, Lenka “Don’t Let Me Fall”, Emily Browning “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)”]

Nehenarah woke up in a large bed all alone. Her head throbbed all over, and despite what she imagined was a long rest, she felt drained of energy. She reluctantly pushed her body out of bed. She was still wearing her blue dress from the previous evening's party, but it was a wrinkled mess. She looked at the window and groaned when the light invaded her eyes. Squinting, she headed for the door. She wanted to find her parents who were somewhere in this wing of the palace. She recalled trying to find them last night, and being somewhat relieved that she had instead found Brynjarr. She wondered why her friend left without waking her. Sure enough, the room next to Brynjarr's was where her parents were staying. When her mother opened the door after Nehenarah had knocked, Eirin was relieved to see her daughter.

"There you are! Where have you been? Your father and I have been worried sick." Eirin grabbed her daughter's hand and led her into the bedroom. Nehenarah's younger sister Dezserahhe was sitting patiently in a chair, her feet kicking the air. "Where did you sleep last night? Dez said she looked all over the east wing for you."

"I was with Brynjarr," Nehenarah answered her mother.

"Where? Alone?" asked Fjornir.

"Right next door." Nehenarah saw the look her father had on his face and immediately course-corrected. "We just shared the bed."

"With Ralof there too?" Eirin asked.

"No, I don't know where Ralof was."

Fjornir approached his daughter. He was watching her closely. "You're hung-over," he proclaimed.

Nehenarah gulped. "I shared some wine with the others, that's all."

"You're too young for wine," Fjornir said, crossing his arms.

"I'm almost  _sixteen_... father," she crossed her own arms as she said the proper word instead of the childish form of "Pa". The age of sixteen years, to most Nords, meant that the person was no longer a child, and was able to make up their own minds. In a sense, Nehenarah was nearly an adult.

Fjornir ran his hand over his beard. "Dez said you spent some time with the Prince."

"Yes, and his friends. Lots of people my own age."

Fjornir sighed. He saw that his daughter was fine, and knew that there was no use scolding her for drinking. The only thing he was truly upset about was that his baby girl was actually growing up. "Most guests are leaving today, but I need to stay here for a little while longer. Dez wants to stay and spend more time with Bera, but your mother wants to get home to Iilah and Kenlaas. You're welcome to stay here with Dez and me, or go home to Whiterun today."

It didn't take Nehenarah long to consider her choices. "I'll go see what Brynjarr is planning to do." She turned to go.

"He's left already," Eirin said.

Nehenarah turned back to her mother. "What?"

"He came early to see us, to tell us he would take a cart south with others instead of riding back with us." Eirin frowned slightly. "I was surprised when you said you were with him. He didn't say anything about it. He just seemed eager to leave." Eirin immediately wondered if she should have mentioned the last bit of information.

Nehenarah stared blankly at her mother. "Oh," was all she said. She turned toward the doorway, but instead of leaving, closed the door behind her and turned to go sit on her parent's bed.

Eirin knew immediately that something was wrong, but did not want to ask just now. She continued packing her belongings.

Fjornir noticed his daughter's demeanor as well. He walked over to the girl, bent down and kissed her forehead, then sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her. He did not ask her what was the matter, but rather asked a harmless question. "So, how do you like Windhelm?"

Nehenarah shrugged. "It's alright," she answered.

"Well  _I_ love it!" Dezserahhe said.

Fjornir chuckled. "Good, I'm glad." He looked back at Nehenarah. Something was obviously weighing on her mind. He had to ask. "What's the matter, my girl? Miss Brynjarr already?" He intentionally teased his daughter.

"What? No, I...," she had other things weighing on her mind. "Pa, I..." Fjornir gently squeezed his arm around Nehenarah to reassure her. "I heard the voice again last night."

Eirin reeled around. "The voice?" She knew what her daughter meant, but hoped she was wrong.

"Ghost Man," the girl said. "He sounded... angry." Nehenarah looked up at her mother. Eirin could see the sadness in her daughter's eyes and knew something else had happened that she was not disclosing.

"Angry?" Fjornir asked. "Do you remember the words he used?"

" _No_ , because you never taught me Dragonspeak." Nehenarah scolded her father.

"Mm, maybe it's time to start," he said. He kissed the top of his daughter's head.

Eirin thought Fjornir should have taught her long ago, when she was young, so that she learned the language easier.

"What's Ghost Man?" Dezserahhe asked.

Nehenarah looked over at her younger sister. "Nothing, Dez. I just hear voices. I'm a crazy person."

Dezserahhe did not believe her sister, but said nothing. Eirin and Fjornir frowned at one another, but also chose not to disclose the issue to their second-born.

Nehenarah rested her head on her father's shoulder. "I'll stay, a little longer," she changed the subject. "I'll watch out for Dez."

Just then a knock sounded at the bedroom door. Eirin opened it and a guard stepped in. "All of you, come with me."

Fjornir stood. "Why?"

The guard frowned. "There's been a murder."

* * *

A little red-haired girl sat next to a man with short-cropped brown hair, talking quietly in a quiet corner of Candlehearth Hall.

When a tall Dunmer woman approached their table, they stopped talking. The little girl glared at the intrusion. "Can I help you?" her little voice carried an air of authority.

The Dunmer pulled up a chair and sat across the table from the man and girl. "Silence, little sister," the Dunmer said before sipping from her mug of ale. Her head was largely concealed by a black hood.

The girl narrowed her eyes at the Dunmer. They both had eyes the color of blood. "I don't know you," the girl said.

"And yet I know you, Babette," the Dunmer smiled. She then turned to the man across from her. "You've grown into yourself nicely, Aventus. I was please to hear that you'd joined the Brotherhood." The woman pushed back her hood to reveal her face.

The identity of the Dunmer suddenly dawned on the girl. "Voldsea! Apologies, I did not recognize you with your hood up."

"No bother," she said. "What are you two doing in Windhelm?"

"I'm trying to sell my old family home," said Aventus Aretino. "But we decided it would also be fun to enjoy the festivities at the palace last week." The young man smiled.

"I met the Princess. Pretended to be a Jarl's daughter," Babette smiled, not caring to hide her vampiric fangs.

"And I met the Prince, as well as the Dragonborn's eldest daughter," Aventus said.

"Oh yes," said Babette. "The Dragonborn's second-born was there as well. Lovely girl. Smelled delicious."

Voldsea Giryon smirked. "I assume you both heard about the court mage incident. Terrible tragedy."

"Terrible, and such a young woman, too." Aventus sipped his ale and looked sideways at Babette.

The girl stared at the Dunmer. "Well, Listener? Who did it?"

Voldsea smiled at her friends. "I'll let you know once I've made the hit." She stood from the table. "Oh, Babette, do stay around a while. I may have need for your unique services." The Dunmer grinned and left.

* * *

Ulfric sat at his desk with his head in his hands.

"Spells don't lie, Ulfric," Fjornir said, sitting down on a chair near the King. "Brelyna comes highly recommended from the College. They say she is as good as the master sorcerer that I had thought to invite down here to perform such a spell for... that other matter. We can trust her."

"I just don't understand."

"Well, who could she possibly want dead?" Fjornir asked.

Ulfric looked at the Dragonborn, then turned around to look at Ralof, who stood leaning against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "I have a pretty good idea," the King muttered.

Fjornir looked at Ralof, then back at the King. Initial confusion quickly turned into understanding when he saw the look on the King's face. "Well, then I'm definitely sticking around. I'm glad my children and Brynjarr are already back in Whiterun. Perhaps you should think about sending your children away too, Ulfric."

The King shook his head. "I want this mage to perform the blood-link spell. Now."

"And then what?" asked Fjornir. "If they're not of your blood, what will you do to them? And the one on the way? You've raised Hungeirr and Bera, they're your children, no matter what."

"No matter what," Ulfric mumbled. "And if I have their mother executed for adultery and murder? Will they even want to be my children?"

"Not adultery, Ulfric," Ralof said. "You're just as guilty. Murder, of your court mage no less, is plenty."

The King gave a light grunt. His lover was right, obviously.

Fjornir realized the two men must have been together for some time now. He wondered if Eirin knew.

Ulfric leaned against the back of his chair and sighed. "Fjornir, go tell my head guard to detain the Queen and put her in the dungeon. I'll talk to my children before I bring them down there."

The Dragonborn left the royal chambers.

Ralof walked over to Ulfric and wrapped his arms around his lover, hugging him from behind. "They may hate you afterwards, Ulfric, you can't help that, but it's not your fault their mother murdered the mage. They will understand that, eventually."

"I'm not sure I even care, Ralof." Ulfric brushed his cheek against Ralof's arm.

"You should care. Having an heir despise his father can't be a good thing. And you said Hungeirr adores his mother."

Ulfric let out a long, deep sigh. "I've made a mess of my life," he said.

"No, you haven't."

"I have. So many years, wasted. A son that may not be my son, a murderous wife who despises me, and the prime of my life passed without you by my side."

"We had many years together, before I left. I'd say you were very much in your prime, then." Ralof grinned and bent down to kiss Ulfric's cheek.

"Hmph," Ulfric half-laughed, and smiled.

Ralof walked in front of Ulfric, leaned down, and kissed the King passionately. "I still think you're prime," he said in gravely voice, smiling.

"You better," Ulfric growled, then pulled Ralof to him for another kiss. Ulfric found comfort in Ralof's embrace. He always did.

The King rose to his feet and pushed Ralof back against the large desk. Ralof's hands quickly untied the King's trousers and reached inside, grasping firmly Ulfric's growing desire. Ulfric bit and sucked on Ralof's lower lip as he untied Ralof's own trousers. They merged their bodies, holding on to one another with renewed desperation. Their lips pressed together with a painful intensity that stole their breath. They found release while clinging to one another, each crying for their own reasons.

* * *

In the palace dungeons, Silda sat waiting in silence. Several hours after the guards came for her, Ulfric, her children, and the new Dunmer mage stood before the cell. Ulfric placed his children before Silda, then nodded at the mage.

Brelyna Maryon held the hand of the King, took a deep breath, then spoke quiet, foreign words.  _"_ _Im_ _haul esgal_ _iarlif_ _."_

A shimmering, pink light slowly encased Ulfric, then his daughter Bera, and then faded. Ulfric turned to the mage. Brelyna nodded at the King.

Ulfric frowned, then scowled. "Guards," he said, "escort the mage and the children upstairs. And send down Fjornir and Ralof."

Silda laughed.

The King turned back to his Queen. "This situation amuses you, does it?" he asked Silda.

"That was a spell to figure out blood-relations, wasn't it?" she asked. "And here I thought if I only fucked blonde guys, you'd never know. Silly me."

"Only Bera is mine," he snarled. " _Why_ , Silda? How many lovers? All these years! Raising Hungeirr as my own... As my heir!"

Silda rose to her feet and walked toward her husband. "You do realize, Ulfric darling, that fucking me the way you usually did would not result in creating a child." When Fjornir and Ralof entered the dungeon, Silda laughed again. "Well, well, now  _this,_ this is amusing. To think, I've had each and every one of you, at least once." She winked at Fjornir.

Ulfric looked at Ralof and Fjornir, then back at the woman. "Enough, Silda. Why kill my mage? How in Tamriel did you learn to do the Black Sacrament? Who is the target!?"

The Queen smiled. "She was there. I  _read_  about it. You'll find out..." She walked back to the bench inside the cell. "I honestly thought I'd get away with it all, too. You've been so busy with  _loverboy_ here that I had a lot of time on my hands, a lot of time to myself." She smiled. "I seriously underestimated the skills of mages, though. Congratulations. You win." She glared at Ulfric.

"Win. Win. This was never a contest, Silda. If you did not want to be Queen then you should have just  _walked away_." Ulfric's voice was deep and full of rage.

"Oh, I wanted to be Queen. And I enjoyed it for the first few years. Particularly the perks. And your staff of guards." She chuckled. "I even enjoyed you, Ulfric, at first."

"Who is Hungeirr's father? And  _this_  child's?"

"Any one of your blonde guards," she smiled.

"Ysmir's Beard, Silda! Why!?" Ulfric spat the words.

"Because I enjoyed it!" she shouted.

Ulfric's chest heaved with heavy breaths. He stared at the Queen a few more moments before stomping up the steps and out of the dungeon. When Ulfric encountered Jorleif, he grumbled an order. "Stop all payments to Dawnstar. Withdraw the extra guard staff. Send Hungeirr to the old Jarl. I'm sure Vigmadhr would love to have his grandson around more."

"Ulfric, is that really necessary?" asked Ralof. "Fjornir is right, he's your son, blood or no blood."

"Do  _NOT_  question me!" Ulfric shouted at his lover, which he immediately regretted. His expression softened as he gazed at Ralof.

"What of the unborn child, my King?" asked Jorleif matter-of-factly.

Ulfric looked over at his steward. "If it's a girl, she's promised to Brunwulf Free-Winter's grandson."

"And if a boy?"

The King stared at Jorleif. "To Dawnstar."

* * *

Nehenarah was hanging out on the back patio of Jorrvaskr, watching the young recruits train. The bronze-skinned man with auburn dreadlocks, whose name she learned was Linnras Tyraevi, was besting most of the others in combat, except for Agata. She was much faster than the men, even faster than Aela. Agata's shield flat-panned Linnras's body and sent him thudding to the paved training ground. She had knocked the wind out of him. The young man coughed and wheezed, but smiled and attempted to laugh.

"Alright," he said in his strange accent as he propped himself up on his elbows to look at Agata, "I owe you an ale." He smiled again, then let himself fall back onto the ground to catch his breath as Agata walked away, smirking with pride.

Nehenarah watched Linnras's chest heave. His bronze body glistened with sweat. Staring at his naked torso, she caught a glimpse of blood. She immediately walked over to the man and knelt at his side. "You're bleeding," she said.

"I'm not surprised." Linnras smiled at Nehenarah, and grimaced as he sat up. "Where?"

Nehenarah held out her hand to his right side and Healed the short gash. "How the Companions managed before without Healers I will never understand."

Linnras watched her hand glow. The heat from her touch felt wonderful. "We warriors generally like our battle scars, you know." He grinned. Nehenarah pulled her hand away from his torso and looked at him. Linnras's smile faded. "Oh, no, don't stop. Please, be my guest." He grunted in pain as he folded his hands behind his head to form a makeshift pillow as Nehenarah's hands warmed and Healed his flesh. When he moaned, Nehenarah stopped again.

"I think you'll live." She stood and walked away.

The young man winced in pain as he stood. "Hold on, I think I have a pulled muscle you could... give me a hand with." He flashed a grin.

"I don't Heal  _pulled muscles_ ," she said as she turned back to the man.

Linnras walked up to Nehenarah and smiled down at her. "You're the Harbinger's daughter, right? Nehenarah?"

"Yes..."

"My name is Linnras Tyraevi." The intricate bow he performed was uncalled for, Nehenarah thought.

"Yes, I'm aware." She stared into the man's eyes. In the midday light, they appeared as yellow as the sun, with tiny flecks of gold. "Where are you from?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Very, very far away."

"What sort of name is Tyraevi?"

"What sort of name is Nehenarah?"

"Hmph." She thought he had a point. "You have an interesting accent," she said.

"Funny, I was thinking the same about you." His wide grin flashed his near-perfect white teeth.

Nehenarah smirked, then turned to go inside.

"Wait! It's midday. Let's eat." He walked over to a table on the patio and plopped onto a chair before pouring a mug full of water for himself then gulping it down.

"You could do with a bath first," she rested her fists on her hips.

Linnras laughed. "More training in the afternoon. Not worth the effort yet. But please, feel free to join me in the river later." He winked as he tossed a piece of cheese into his mouth.

Nehenarah's mouth opened with the full intention of coming back at the man with a clever retort, but she failed miserably. The mental image of the bronze-skinned man nude in a river struck her like a boulder to the brain, and she was temporarily stupefied. "I... I'm going to go... inside... now..." Nehenarah shoved the door to Jorrvaskr's main hall opened and fled the awkwardness on the patio.

* * *

The same evening that Silda was detained, Ralof descended into the dungeons to confront the Queen. He had asked Fjornir to remain outside the door to wait for him, and the Dragonborn obliged, though reluctantly. Ralof sat on a chair in front of the woman's cell and glared at her.

"What?" Silda finally said, irritated.

"You never loved her, did you?" he asked.

"Loved who?" Silda asked. She looked up at Ralof, then smiled. "Oh, you mean Brynja. Sure, I loved her, I suppose. I was sad to hear that she died. And to think, if she had never been with you, she'd be alive and well today."

Ralof thrust his body up from his chair and approached the cell. "If you had never left her so abruptly she would never had sought comfort with me." His fingers grasped the iron bars. His knuckles turned white.

"Hmm, fair enough," Silda said calmly. "By the way, I forgot to ask Fjornir, earlier... Tell him I hope he had a nice reunion with his mother." She grinned.

"The vampire?" Ralof had heard the tragic story. Years ago, Fjornir was reunited with his mother who had given him up as an infant. The woman had become a vampire, and eventually terrorized the town of Morthal under the instruction and influence of a master vampire. Fjornir and Lydia had set out to confront the vampire, and Lydia had turned Fjornir's mother into dust. Ralof mentally added this instance to the list of Silda's wicked schemes. "Do you walk around with the  _intent_  to destroy people's lives, or does it just come to you naturally!?"

Silda's laughter was disconcerting. "I suppose the latter. Just you wait, my darling Ralof, when I'm gone and you're sitting around the palace with nothing better to do as Ulfric does whatever Kings do, you'll grow just as bored."

"I'm nothing like you," Ralof growled.

"No," Silda said softly, "no, I suppose not. You've always been soft at heart. I suppose that's why Ulfric prefers you. He doesn't like competition."

"Soft," Ralof laughed, "no, Silda, I'm not soft. I just have  _control_  over the anger and hatred inside of me." He shook the bars that separated him from the Queen. They protected her as much as anyone else. "You," his voice calmed, "you're just...  _insane_. Ulfric should have seen that. If it weren't for these bars and my own conscience, my hands would be around  _your neck_."

Ralof kicked the iron bars and stormed out of the dungeon. The door slammed behind him.

Silda slouched back on her cell bench. She did not expect to hear quiet snickering coming from elsewhere in the dungeon. "Who's there?" the Queen called out.

"Someone who can help," a silky, deep female voice answered.

The dungeon fell silent. Silda could not have anticipated the dark silhouette that emerged in front of her cell. The Queen stood and approached the iron bars. "Who sent you?"

The hooded face smiled. "The Night Mother always hears the whispers in the dark," she said.

Silda gasped. "It worked..."

"Yes," said the woman in black. "Now, my Queen, tell me, who is it that you wish to die?"


	6. Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a little girl talk and bro tips....
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: Jenny Owen Young "F**k Was I", Radiohead "Exit Music (for a film)", Damien Jurado "Hoquiam", Nirvana "Where Did You Sleep Last Night"]

"Agata, can I talk to you about something?" Nehenarah spoke timidly to the young woman.

"Sure, what about, lass?" Agata was eating breakfast alone on the patio of Jorrvaskr.

"Not here... Meet me in my room, when you're finished here?"

"Alright, I'll be there in a bit."

"Thanks," Nehenarah breathed a sigh of relief. She needed desperately to talk to someone about all of the thoughts and feelings she has been having lately. Though she usually could talk to her mother about such things, she felt incredibly embarrassed doing so when it came to this particular, new situation. And her friends, though thoughtful, were hardly experienced enough, and Nehenarah feared they would not keep their mouths shut to others.

Agata, on the other hand, had proven to be a very kept-together, quiet, and kind person, and that is what Nehenarah needed right now. Agata was also twenty years old and would therefore have, Nehenarah hoped, more experience than her friends in the matters of love and sex.

Nehenarah was relieved that Brynjarr hadn't been around for over a week. When she got back to Whiterun, he was nowhere to be found. She asked the Companions, and was told Brynjarr had gone on a mission with Farkas and other recruits. She needed time away from her friend to sort out all of the things that had happened between them recently, and with other boys, and within her own mind and body.

She knew what sex was. She had known since she started bleeding once a month. Her mother had given her what she heard others her age refer to ask "the talk". It had been then during their discussion on sex, desire, love, marriage, and pregnancy that Eirin had accidentally revealed to her daughter that her first lover was Ralof. Nehenarah was shocked by the news, but only because of her close relationship with Brynjarr. She thought it made a lot of sense, since she had considered Brynjarr to be her almost-brother. Now, she didn't know what to think.

She sat waiting for Agata in her bedroom, putting her hair in long braids again. Her mother didn't like how it looked on Nehenarah, which made her want to do it even more. "Whatever," she said to no one, "I like braids."

Soon a knock sounded at the door, and Agata entered, then shut the door behind her. "So, what's on your mind, 'Narah?" Agata sat in a chair that she pulled up next to the bed.

"Um, a lot, actually..." Nehenarah bit her lip as she braided.

"Want me to braid your hair for you?" Agata offered. Nehenarah nodded. "Alright, lass. You talk, I braid." The young blonde Nord smiled as she moved behind Nehenarah on the bed.

"Agata, have you ever, um,  _been with_  a guy?" Nehenarah asked.

The young woman chuckled. "Yes, I have. What would you like to know?"

"Well, um, I guess, how do you know? I mean, how do you know when a guy likes you, like, as more than a friend? Especially if you're already friends... best friends... and...  _ugh_ ," Nehenarah made a noise of disgust. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling."

"No, it's fine. I understand."

"And how do you know if the guy wants something more than just sex, like, love, or... something? Like what if a guy gropes you, or teases you, or kisses you, or refuses to kiss you after he kissed you because you got nervous because he kissed you the first time and now he won't kiss you again?"

Agata laughed. "Lass, this may take more than just one hair-braiding session to talk about." She smiled as she picked up another clump of hair to braid. "I suppose I should start by giving you some advice that was given to me when I was about your age."

"Alright," Nehenarah said. "And what's that?"

"Well, I'm assuming that you're a virgin, yes?"

"Yeah...," Nehenarah replied.

"Good, that's good! You're so young, 'Narah. It's good to wait, at least until you're sixteen."

"Two more months!"

The woman laughed. "Good. Now, as for my advice... I was told, and most people agree, that it's almost always better for your first time to be with someone you know and trust, if not someone you love romantically. Of course, there can be complications... Like, if one person loves the other, but that love is not returned. And for most people, both men and women, they will forever remember the person they first had sex with. So, naturally it's best to have a fond memory of the occasion."

"So... a good friend. Not someone you met recently?"

"Exactly, because who knows who that new person in your life really is, you know?"

Nehenarah sat in silence for a few moments. "I almost had sex with a stranger not long ago."

"Ah. What stopped you?"

"Long story... Instinct, I guess. And I felt sick from wine."

Agata giggled. "Wine is dangerous. At least you learned that already."

"So, then, about my other question... How do you know if a guy likes you, or loves you, or just wants to have sex?"

"Do you perhaps have an example you could give me?" Agata had a feeling Nehenarah was thinking of a particular person.

The girl bit her lip. "Yes. Yes, I do..."

* * *

"My King?" Jorleif asked, tentatively.

"Yes? What is it, Jorleif?" Ulfric was weary from a sleepless night. Even with an immense number of guards stationed around the palace and Ralof safe with him in the royal chambers, Ulfric could not sleep.

"I regret to inform you that...," the steward swallowed hard, "the Queen, she..."

"What, Jorleif? Out with it. What of her?"

Jorleif stared at Ulfric. "She's dead, my King. Killed sometime during the night. The guards have no idea-"

" _Killed?_  How?" Ulfric stood from his bed and approached his steward.

"The guards are not certain, my King, there were guards posted throughout the palace and the dungeon all through the night. No one saw anything or anyone out of order. But it appears that... Her throat was slit, my King. I'm sorry." Jorleif's skin was drained of color.

"Oh, for the love of  _Talos!_ " Ulfric shouted. He grabbed a book from a table and threw it across the room.

"Were you not going to have her executed anyway, Ulfric?" Ralof asked sleepily.

"Publicly! Put to trial, and executed in public so the people knew she had murdered the mage! And  _after_ she gave birth!... " Ulfric kicked the foot of the bed. "Fuck! Fuck, FUCK."

"I don't understand. What's the problem? Aside from the child..." Ralof wrapped a bedsheet around his waist and walked over to Ulfric..

"The problem... is the people. The people will not know what happened. They will not have seen her die. She was  _pregnant!_ This... This..." Ulfric's hands began to tremble. "This is bad."

"Ulfric, your entire guard staff will vouch for your innocence," Jorleif said. "No one saw anything. No one has accused you."

"And Fjornir? Ralof?" Ulfric asked. His voice cracked when he said his lover's name.

Jorleif frowned. "I don't know, Ulfric."

Ralof took Ulfric's hand in his. "It will be alright, Ulfric." Ralof immediately regretted his gesture as the King's grip nearly crushed his hand.

"I need to see her," the King said. He rushed to dress in a loincloth and robe. Ralof did the same.

Jorleif led the men down the dungeons. When they arrived, Fjornir was standing at the dungeon entrance, pale and frowning.

"Stand aside, Dragonborn," Ulfric ordered Fjornir.

"Ulfric, there's... I would advise you to not go in there," he said in a quiet voice.

The King growled and bared his teeth at Fjornir, then shoved him aside. He descended the stone steps and was met by half a dozen guards and the court mage. Several of the guards were doubled over, having recently vomited.

"What's going on?" Ulfric boomed.

Brelyna walked calmly over to Ulfric. "I had cast a Clairvoyance spell, but found no trace of the culprit. I'm sorry, my King. Also..." The Dunmer mage turned her head to her left. "Frodhi?" she called to the palace healer.

The elderly man had been examining Silda's corpse. He walked out from the cell and approached the mage and his King. "Yes, Brelyna, thank you."

The woman nodded and gratefully left the dungeon.

The healer frowned as he gazed upon Ulfric. "I'm truly sorry, my King. Somehow the Queen was attacked behind a locked cell, or the culprit somehow got in and out, locking the cell door again. The Queen was bound, so this was not a suicide." The healer sighed. "My King, whoever did this..." The whites of his eyes were red with the tears he had shed. "The murderer took the child."

Ulfric's jaw dropped. " _What!?_ "

"Silda was nearly full-term. The child likely survived, if it was taken quickly, but it is gone. It was cut out." He tried to hide his grimace.

Ulfric stared at the healer in silence, and nearly collapsed, but was caught by Ralof. "Cut out...," Ulfric repeated. "Why..."

"No one can know, my King," said the healer. "If I may, I would advise you to return to your chambers. Let the guards handle everything down here."

The King reached for Ralof's hand. "I should... I should take care of some things. With Jorleif..."

"Yes, I agree, my King." The healer said softly.

Ralof tugged at Ulfric, who let himself be led back upstairs.

Fjornir was waiting at the dungeon entrance. "Ulfric?" he called to the King.

"Hmm?" Ulfric's eyes were watery.

"I would like to return to my family, now, if you don't mind. All of this...," he swallowed, "I need to make sure they are safe."

The King gave the Dragonborn a single nod, then followed Ralof away and up to his chambers.

* * *

Brynjarr ate his share of the ptarmigan that he killed to add to the group's dinner for the evening. He sat between Almarr and Rik, two of the youngest recruits aside from himself. He watched as Farkas ravaged the lion's share of the roasted bird, and listened as Naefi and Geirr talked about the girls they had recently "conquered", as they put it. Brynjarr felt out of place among the older Companions, particularly in the area of women. Farkas was a known lady's man, having bedded both Lydia and Ysolda, two of the most beautiful women in Whiterun, as well as countless others across Skyrim.

Brynjarr thought about Nehenarah and how she had acted in Windhelm compared to how she had acted before then. She didn't seem to understand that he didn't just want her body, but that he wanted all of her, not just as a friend. If he couldn't have all of her, then he didn't want to just have sex with her. Part of him wondered if he should find someone else in the mean time.

Later in the evening when the rest of the group slept, Brynjarr sat beside Farkas. He sat in silence for a while, but eventually spoke up. "So, Ysolda. How long has that been going on?"

"Hmm? Oh, a while, now," Farkas picked his teeth with one of the ptarmigan's bones.

"Do you love her?" Brynjarr asked.

Farkas laughed. "I love what she does with her hips."

Brynjarr feigned amusement. "So you're not, like, going to marry her, or..."

"Why do you care? Want her for yourself?" Farkas elbowed Brynjarr in his side. "I think she's a bit old for you, kid."

"No, no, I don't. I was just asking."

Farkas looked at the boy, chuckled, then tossed a canteen full of mead at him. "What's wrong, hmm? Got your mind on someone, do ya?"

Brynjarr blushed, but he assumed the dim light of the small campfire did not show this to Farkas. "Yeah," he said.

"'Narah sure is a pretty lass."

Brynjarr looked up at Farkas. "How?... I never said..."

"You didn't have to. A man can usually tell when another man fancies someone. Keeps us from chasing after the same woman, from biting each other's heads off. Usually." He grinned.

Brynjarr gave a faint laugh. "I'm pretty sure she hates me, now."

"What did you do?"

"I kissed her. And, um, I grabbed her breast."

Farkas laughed. "Wow, kid. Well done."

"No, no, it happened when I was asleep. I didn't even know it happened. Er, that is, the grabbing. The kiss came after when I... she was awake and. _..._ _Guh_ _,"_  he sighed. "Then, when we were in Windhelm, she was drunk. She... she kissed  _me_ , and, uh... I um... I didn't do anything, but she..." He sunk his face into his palms and groaned. "I didn't want it to happen, and I told her that. I couldn't tell her why. I couldn't. The words just won't come out. I can't tell her." He kicked dirt into the campfire.

"Alright, let me try to understand." Farkas turned to Brynjarr. "'Narah's your best friend, which everyone in Whiterun knows. You obviously love the girl, which, let's be honest, who can blame you? You did something stupid in your sleep, which every guy does at some point, and then you wouldn't take advantage of her while she was drunk. Does that sound about right?"

"Yeah," Brynjarr confirmed.

"Doesn't sound like she has much to hate you for, kid."

"But she does. I think. I don't know. When she was drunk, she said she wouldn't mind... staying friends, but... you know..."

"So what you're really saying, is that you have no idea if she loves you back."

Brynjarr frowned and looked at the older warrior. "Exactly."

Farkas sighed. "Well, that, unfortunately, I cannot help you with. My advice is to just tell her how you feel. Apparently that works for some guys."

"I've tried."

"Try again, kid. Try again." Farkas grabbed the canteen of mead from Brynjarr and drank heavily.

* * *

Several weeks later, Fjornir and Eirin finalized the details Nehenarah's sixteenth birthday present. Only one aspect of the gift was left unattained. Fjornir had asked every Companion and recruit to assemble in the main hall of Jorrvaskr that morning, but had made sure Nehenarah was out somewhere in town, unknowingly kept hostage by her friends and sisters.

Fjornir stepped in front of the crowd outside of his bedroom and cleared his throat. "Now, as you all know, Nehenarah's sixteenth birthday is just over a month from now. And as most of you know, we're giving her my old home in town as her gift. I've asked you all here to request a volunteer to be her housecarl. Anyone, full Companion or recruit, may volunteer." Traditionally, the position of housecarl must come from a volunteer.

"What's a housecarl?" someone asked.

"Akin to a chambermaid. Don't do it!" Lydia shouted, and grinned. The crowd laughed.

Fjornir smirked. "A housecarl is a personal bodyguard. You will live in her house, guard it as well as anyone living inside, and accompany her on any travels. You would be made a full member of the Companions if you aren't already, but your duties would be limited to protecting my daughter, which would largely consist of remaining in Whiterun, and in the house."

"But we don't expect you to be confined at all times to Breezehome," Eirin interjected. "We only ask that you are there when Nehenarah is there."

Fjornir gave her a look, which she returned in kind.

"And the pay?" someone else asked.

"Substantial," Fjornir said.

The crowd murmured excitedly. Fjornir waited anxiously. He wondered if Lydia's stories dissuaded people from volunteering. A long time passed, and still, no one raised their hands.

Linnras Tyraevi looked around him and saw nothing but frowns and shaking heads. "This is ridiculous," he said, loudly. The crowd stopped talking amongst themselves and turned to the south side of the hall to look at the young foreign recruit. "We're talking about the Harbinger's daughter, here." Linnras descended the stairs, passing through the tightly-packed crowd toward the front of the hall. "If you ask me," he turned around to the crowd, "there is no greater glory than protecting the Harbinger's children." He turned back to Fjornir and Eirin and walked up them. " _I_ volunteer, Fjornir, Eirin. It would be an honor. I may only be a recruit, but I am more than capable of protecting someone."

Fjornir frowned.  _Naturally_ , he thought, _the most handsome and exotic of the recruits volunteered. It couldn't have been an ugly old man, no..._ He looked over at Eirin, who shrugged and gave a single nod as if to say, "Why not?"

Fjornir turned back to the young man and donned his best insincere smile. "Alright then, Linnras, you'll move in to Breezehome in several weeks. Thank you." He grasped the recruit's shoulder briefly before returning to his bedroom with Eirin and shutting the door.

He could hear the din caused by the crowd outside his bedroom. He turned to his wife, and frowned. "It had to be him," he said.

"What's wrong with Linnras?" Eirin asked. "I've seen him in practice, he's amazing. Only Agata can best him."

"That's just it,  _Dyra_. He's amazing. How much would you be willing to bet that your sixteen-year-old daughter will think so, too?"


	7. The Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nehenarah gets her birthday gift....
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: Phildel "Union Stone", Rosi Golan "Say It Anyway", Snow Patrol "Open Your Eyes"]

"Farkas, do you know what day it is today?" Brynjarr asked as the group of Companion recruits rode their horses south, led by their instructor.

"No idea, why?"

"It's 'Narah's sixteenth birthday soon," he said. "When we left, it was just over one month away."

"And we've been gone about that long," Farkas said quietly, studying the boy. "We're about a day's ride from Whiterun, if you rode her hard and fast." He raised his eyebrow and grinned at Brynjarr. He was indicating Brynjarr's mare. The rest of the recruits snickered.

Brynjarr blushed. "Could we return? Or just me? Just to be there..."

Farkas let out a guttural chuckle, and he was all smiles. He then sighed. "Only if you promise to seduce the  _pants_  off the girl."

Brynjarr's face turned bright red as the rest of the boys nearly fell laughing off their horses.

* * *

Hungeirr paced back and forth in front of the empty Jarl's throne in Dawnstar. His grandfather, Jarl Vigmadhr, son of the late Jarl Skald, father to the late Silda, was sleeping off his ale, and was late for his meeting with the boy. Hungeirr was disowned by King Ulfric after he learned that Hungeirr was not his son, and then sent to live with his grandfather. Over the last fourteen years, Dawnstar had been receiving a considerable monthly stipend from Windhelm, but when Hungeirr and his guardian arrived in Dawnstar with the news of Silda's death and the disowning of Hungeirr, the Jarl spiraled into a depression and drank himself into oblivion.

It was not enough that Hungeirr was now due to become the Jarl of Dawnstar someday – the boy wanted to be King. He was determined to take the throne in Windhelm.

* * *

Constance Michel picked up the bundle left at the doorstep of Honorhall Orphanage. She took the crying infant inside and unwrapped the swaddling linens. Nothing accompanied the infant, no note or emblem of any kind of indicate its origins. The bald, blue-eyed, underfed boy squealed. "I guess I'll call you Gradhr, for now." Constance always nicknamed the incoming, unnamed infants with something unique to them. "Runa?" she called to her assistant.

"Yes, Constance?" Runa Fair-Shield answered.

"Warm up some milk, would you? We have a hungry one here."

* * *

Nehenarah was excited and nervous. Her sixteenth birthday was tomorrow, and she couldn't sleep. She tried reading boring books, frying various foods with small sparks of lightning from her fingertips and seeing how they tasted after, and even attempted to write poetry, which she immediately crumpled up and tossed into her small hearth. Her head fell to her desk with a thud and she whined. When a quiet knock sounded at her bedroom door, she jumped. She turned around and wondered who would be knocking on her door in the middle of the night. Images of a flirtatious, half-naked, possibly drunk Linnras floated around in her mind, though she didn't know why, and she didn't know if she welcomed the idea or not.

The person behind the door was not Linnras. "B'!," Nehenarah gasped, and then leapt into the arms of her best friend. She had missed him, and was even more excited to see someone who could easily cure her restlessness.

"Hello, 'Narah," he happily returned her eager embrace. "Happy early birthday," he said in a gentle voice.

"You made it," she said, still smiling, still holding her friend tight.

"Of course I did, although, admittedly it was just luck that I thought to ask Farkas to let us return to Whiterun for a while this morning..."

"I don't care. You're  _here_."

Nehenarah's head rested on his chest. Brynjarr lowered his face to her hair and inhaled the scent of his friend. "Be glad I took some time to bathe before coming to see you."

Nehenarah laughed.

After a while, he asked, "Can I come in?"

Nehenarah giggled, not realizing they were still in the hallway. Luckily, most of Jorrvaskr was asleep. She took Brynjarr by the hand and led him inside, then closed the door behind her. Once inside, she embraced him again. "I'm so glad you're alright," she said.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked.

"Haven't you heard?"

Brynjarr stepped back from her and shook his head. "Heard about what?"

"Windhelm. The night of the party...," she suddenly remembered that he had left her without warning, but ignored the memory, "the court mage was murdered."

"Really!?"

"Really. That's all I know, but the guards were really mean and had to question even me and Dez!"

"That's awful." He frowned. "I'm sorry I left you, 'Narah. It was a horrible thing to do. I should have said goodbye, or stayed with you."

Nehenarah made a face that Brynjarr couldn't interpret. When she didn't say anything, Brynjarr grew nervous, but was determined not to shy away, this time. When he stepped forward and reached for her hands, Nehenarah bit her lip. Brynjarr gazed at his friend, took a deep breath, dropped one of Nehenarah's hands, then reached into the pocket of his trousers. Nehenarah wondered what he was searching for. She imagined what sort of tiny gifts would fit into pockets and was terrified when the realization that rings fit into pockets entered her thoughts.

She was relieved when Brynjarr pulled out what looked like a leather string. He proceeded to wrap the string around Nehenarah's left wrist and tie the ends securely. He turned her wrist palm-up. When Nehenarah saw what it really was, she was stunned. A single, time-worn bone bead with a faded engraving was strung on the string. She looked up at Brynjarr. He smiled. "I've been waiting to give this to you for years," he said. He raised her wrist to his mouth and kissed the bead.

"But, it's... You've had this your entire life, B'."

"I know," he said as he raised a hand to Nehenarah's cheek. "Take good care of it for me, hmm?" He smiled.

Nehenarah realized she had forgotten to breathe. She inhaled quickly. Her eyes were fixed on Brynjarr's. "I...," her mouth opened but words failed to form. "I...," she swallowed hard, "I will."

She felt as if his big blue eyes were pleading, begging for her to say more, do more, anything. A strange flutter somewhere inside of her made her more nervous than she had ever been. She went with her gut instinct. She raised both hands to Brynjarr's cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss. His lips felt soft and warm against hers. She didn't recall how they had felt before, in the tent and in Windhelm. She therefore considered this their first true kiss. Brynjarr returned her kiss only tentatively at first, but he eventually embraced her fully, and wrapped his arms around her. Nehenarah felt the same tingles she had felt with that red-haired boy Hrodlif, but stronger. She was actually nervous, this time. She was kissing her best friend, completely sober. Her best friend who had just gifted to her his family heirloom, a bracelet he had worn since birth. To Nehenarah, this meant Brynjarr was giving himself to her. Their kiss intensified, but Brynjarr abruptly stepped back and looked at her. Nehenarah thought he looked as if he was about to charge at her like an angry bull, except that he definitely did not look angry. He looked terrified.

"What's wrong?" she asked, grasping his hands.

Brynjarr breathed deeply, swallowed, and took his time to speak. "Nehenarah," he said her full name, "I... I'm in love with you." He clenched his jaw, bracing himself to be struck down by rejection.

Nehenarah's jaw dropped.  _Agata was right_ , she thought. Her stomach flipped, knotted and swirled around within her body. Nerves had frozen her brain. Instead of speaking, she pulled Brynjarr forward by his hands and kissed him. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she pressed Brynjarr's mouth to hers. To Nehenarah, everything about this moment felt right. She never wanted to stop kissing Brynjarr. Never, never, never. Except, she realized, she should say something. She lifted her lips from Brynjarr's mouth and pressed her forehead against his. "Me too."

Brynjarr smiled wide and proceeded to lift and spin Nehenarah. He bent down to kiss her again. When he felt himself being pulled, he opened his eyes. Nehenarah was leading him by the hand to her bed. She sat on the mattress and pulled Brynjarr to her for another kiss. When she ran her hands up Brynjarr's shirt, he pulled away. "Wait, 'Narah," he said.

Nehenarah was confused.

Brynjarr gazed at his friend. "I want to wait," he said.

"Wait? Wait for what?"

"A couple years from now. I... I'm not even sixteen yet. I don't want to risk getting you pregnant."

"Years? But your birthday is in three months."

"I know, I just... I'm not ready to be a father."

"B', there are herbs I can take."

"They don't always work. Farkas said that Lydia never wanted children and took herbs every day, and one day,  _poof!_ , pregnant. He said Vilkas was thrilled, but he was the only one."

"But I  _do_ want children, someday. It wouldn't be the end of the world if that happened." She tugged at the fabric of Brynjarr's tunic.

"No, it wouldn't. But wouldn't you rather have a few years, just to ourselves? No screaming babies?"

Nehenarah laughed. "You do have a point."

"I know I do." He smiled. "Don't worry, though." He pushed back her long wavy hair from her neck and kissed her soft flesh. "There are other things we can do."

"Other things?"

"Mhmm." Brynjarr sucked at the slope her Nehenarah's neck, making her quiver.

Brynjarr's lips left her neck and kissed her mouth as his hands began to untie her trousers. Nehenarah instinctively lifted herself so that Brynjarr could pull down the clothing. He then kissed her again and pressed his body against hers. She felt his obvious arousal, and wanted to be free of the rest of her clothing. She leaned back and lifted her shirt up and off, and threw it to the ground. Brynjarr was temporarily hypnotized by the sight of her bare breasts.

"So," she said, "what other things?" Her lower legs grazed his clothed backside.

Brynjarr broke out of his trance and grinned at Nehenarah. "Lay back, and I'll show you."

* * *

Nehenarah had no idea what time it was when she woke. Brynjarr was still fast asleep on his back, letting Nehenarah use his upper arm as a pillow. Her arm lay across his bare torso. She resettled against Brynjarr's body, molding herself to him, unintentionally waking him up. He moaned softly, then turned on his side, pulling Nehenarah closer to him with both arms. "Good morning," he said sleepily.

"It is," she said, then felt Brynjarr's chest vibrate as he chuckled.

Their delicate morning kisses quickly escalated into Nehenarah sitting on Brynjarr's lap, kissing him as if her life depended on it. She felt his desire press against her inner thigh, but did not stop kissing him. Brynjarr flipped them around, landing Nehenarah on her back. Still kissing her, he found the center of Nehenarah's pleasure with his hand, and Nehenarah reached down and found his.

Nehenarah thought she felt faint vibrations coming from the bed, but ignored it, giving in completely to her imminent release. As her pleasure mounted, she heard a loud rumbling. She instead concentrated on the feeling of Brynjarr's lips on hers. As their bodies began to shake in their mutual release, they heard the sound of nearby thunder. When Nehenarah cried out Brynjarr's name, the thundering sound increased in volume and changed to a chorus of booming voices. Drowning out their moans were three blaring sounds.

" _DO... VAH... KIIR."_


	8. Het Kos Dovahhe (Here Be Dragons)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nehenarah finally meets a dragon...
> 
> [Chapter Soundtrack: Mirah "The Garden", Founds "Vessels"]
> 
> If you're curious about the dragonspeak, check out Thuum.org.

Nehenarah and Brynjarr were breathing hard and grinning at each other. Brynjarr kissed Nehenarah, then asked, "What was that sound? It was like a shouting earthquake."

Nehenarah pressed her lips to Brynjarr's in a long, drawn-out kiss, then turned him onto his back. "Maybe a dragon landed on top of Jorrvaskr and it's going to  _eat us all._ " She grinned, then kissed Brynjarr again.

* * *

Fjornir's eyes flashed open. He bolted upright in bed. "Greybeards...," he whispered. He tugged on some trousers and ran down to the basement of Jorrvaskr. When he opened the door to his daughter's bedroom, he stopped in his tracks. Fjornir was completely unprepared to see his sixteen-year-old daughter, naked, straddling and kissing her fifteen-year-old best friend Brynjarr, also naked. His eyes went wide as he absorbed the entirety of the scene, no expanse of flesh spared from his vision. When Nehenarah looked toward the doorway and gasped as her eyes met her father's, Fjornir immediately shut the door and squinted his eyes shut, trying to squeeze the imagery out of his mind.

Nehenarah's jaw dropped.  _I didn't lock_ _the door_ _,_  she realized.

"Oh fuck," Brynjarr muttered. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," he whispered to himself over and over.

Nehenarah sat paralyzed in bed, eyes wide and jaw slack. "Get dressed," she quietly ordered both herself and Brynjarr. "Get dressed," she repeated.

Brynjarr stood from the bed, found his tunic crumpled on the floor, and pulled it on inside-out. He swallowed hard. "He's going to kill me," he said.

"Wh-... why do you say that?"

Brynjarr looked at Nehenarah. "Because he's your father," he answered, as if that explained everything. He continued searching the room for the remainder of his clothing but his loincloth and trousers were nowhere to be found. "'Narah, I can't find my-"

The door swung open again with Fjornir bursting into the bedroom, his eyes shielded from whatever scene was waiting for him. Nehenarah scrambled about, throwing blankets over her naked body.

"Father! What are you doing!?" Nehenarah shouted.

"What am  _I_  doing!?" he yelled, his eyes still shielded.

Brynjarr stood frozen, half-naked from his thighs down.

"Get out!" Nehenarah squealed at her father.

"I'm... I'm...," Brynjarr stammered as he stood before Fjornir whose enormous, bare chest reminded him of just how large Nehenarah's father was.

" _Leaving_ ," Fjornir growled.

"Yes, yes," Brynjarr muttered, and fled the bedroom. As he ran down the hall to his space in the recruit's bedroom, half of Jorrvaskr got a glimpse of his unclothed half. A chorus of hoots and howls and applause immediately followed.

"'Narah, get dressed," Fjornir said in a fuming, guttural voice, "go... go see your mother." He slammed the door on his way out. When he stepped into the hallway, the applause and shouts ceased abruptly as the crowd gazed upon a furious Harbinger. Fjornir snarled, and the on-lookers shrank back into their rooms.

* * *

Inside the Harbinger's bedroom, Nehenarah sat next to her mother on the bed. Fjornir entered and immediately looked away from his daughter. He closed and locked the door, then walked to the other side of the room and began to pace back and forth.

Eirin watched her husband. "Is anyone going to tell me what happened?" She looked at her daughter, who looked away from her mother. Eirin turned back to Fjornir. "What did you do?" she asked her husband.

Fjornir thought his wife was talking to Nehenarah, but when his daughter remained silent, he turned to find his wife glaring at him. "Me? What did  _I_ do?  _Huh!_ " he laughed nervously and continued pacing. "Go on, 'Narah, go on and tell your mother."

Nehenarah's jaw dropped open. She did not want to tell her mother anything, and couldn't believe her father was forcing her to do so. "I.. I didn't...," she said, "we didn't..."

Fjornir laughed nervously again.

Eirin glowered. "What happened, 'Narah?" she asked her daughter.

Nehenarah just shook her head.

"She had sex with Brynjarr!" Fjornir shouted, stomping toward his wife and daughter.

Nehenarah dropped her face into her hands and wailed. "I did not!" she cried.

"Oh really!?" Fjornir laughed. "That's not what it looked like!"

"What?" Eirin asked. "You saw them?"

Fjornir looked at Eirin. "Well... no, not... I mean..." He looked at his daughter and had to look away again. "They were...," he made a strange sound, "they were  _naked_  and..."

"I can't believe you would tell mother!" Nehenarah stood and shouted at her father.

"Well someone had to!" he shouted back, then turned away again. He rested his fists on his waist and tapped his foot.

"'Narah...," Eirin said softly.

"I didn't, Ma, I swear!"

"It's fine, 'Narah," Eirin said.

Fjornir spun around. "It is  _not_ fine!" he shouted. "She's sixteen!"

"Exactly, Fjornir. I recall you said Haming could join the Companions at that age. And Brynjarr is not even that age and, yet, he too is in the Companions. I think you're forgetting that your daughter is grown up, now." Eirin smiled and held out her hand to her daughter. Nehenarah hugged her mother. "Besides," Eirin spoke again, "I told you this would happen,  _Bear_."

Nehenarah looked at her mother. "You did?"

Eirin nodded and smiled, and she then grasped Nehenarah's wrist. It bore a familiar charm. "I thought he loved you. I see I was right."

Fjornir saw something unsettling and walked briskly over to his daughter, grabbing the wrist that bore a bracelet with a single bone bead. "For the love of Talos...," he cringed. "'Narah..." He dropped her wrist and walked backwards away from his wife and daughter. He appeared heart-broken.

Eirin watched her husband react to the bead that had haunted his life during their early relationship. It had belonged to Ralof, Brynjarr's father, and Eirin's first love. It was Ralof's engagement gift to Eirin when they were young. It had been the last remnant of love Eirin held for Ralof, and of Ralof for Eirin. Fjornir despised that bead, and now it was bound to his daughter's wrist, a gift from the son of the man who had held Eirin's heart for so many years. So much about this felt wrong to Fjornir. His stomach wrung tightly inside of him.

Eirin deftly changed the subject. "Fjornir," she said, "it happened again, didn't it? The Greybeards. It was just as you described."

Fjornir looked up, frowning. He wiped his palms over his face and groaned, then slumped into a chair. "The Greybeards called for the  _Dovahkiir_."

"The what?" Nehenarah asked. "Isn't that... isn't that what the Ghost Man called me?" She vaguely recalled the word that the voice had repeated so often in her mind.

"Yes," Eirin said softly. "It means 'Dragon Child'."

" _Dragon_  child!?" asked Nehenarah. "I'm the child of a dragon!?"

"No," Fjornir said in a gruff voice. "Dragonborn. The child of the Dragonborn."

Nehenarah stared at her defeated father. He still wouldn't look at her. "Dez and Iilah and Kenlass too?" she asked.

"No, I don't think so," Fjornir said.

"Why not?" she asked her father.

Eirin and Fjornir exchanged quick looks. It was time to tell her.

Nehenarah's parents explained what they knew about her, about what Ghost Man said to her in the past ever since she was four years old, and what dragons had said to them about her.

As they were talking, a frantic knock sounded on the bedroom door. Fjornir stood and opened it angrily. A closed door to the Harbinger's bedroom meant he was not to be disturbed. "This had better be good," he grumbled to a young man he vaguely recognized.

The young man was out of breath. "Dragons," he said, "outside... stables...," he breathed deeply for a few moments, "waiting... for you..."

"Dragons? Here?" Nehenarah asked quietly.

* * *

Outside the walls of Whiterun, near the stables as the young man had said, stood three dragons, one red, and two green. They waited patiently for the Dragonborn to approach.

" _Dovahkiin!_ " the three dragons sounded at once. Their voices vibrated the air.

"Odahviing?" Fjornir asked. He thought he recognized the red dragon.

" _Geh!_ _Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin."_  Odahviing greeted the Dragonborn. "It is finally time."

Fjornir nodded at the dragons. " _Wo los daar?"_ He asked who the green dragons were.

" _Griist_ _Lokfahdon_ _ahrk_ _Buriishaan_ _,"_ Odahviing introduced the green dragons.

" _Vahr los hei het?_ " Fjornir asked why the dragons were there.

Odahviing laughed and smoke puffed from his nostrils. "You have learned  _Dovahzul_  well,  _Dovahkiin._ _Daar Dovahhe hiif_ _iin_ _Dovahkiir ahrk lafaanne_ _ii_ _._  We are to take you to  _Monahven_ , to the Mother Wind," Odahviing answered. To the Throat of the World. " _Veyn los_ _faal_ _Dohvakiir?_  Where is your daughter?"

Fjornir tensed for a moment, but turned back toward the town, and Shouted  _"YOL"_ , sending forth a burst of fire into the sky to signal his family that it was safe to approach.

As Eirin and Nehenarah came out from behind the stables, the dragons stirred excitedly. " _Heind, Dovahkiir!"_  Odahviing greeted the girl.  _"_ _Mu g_ _rind einzuk, monah_ _wah_ _D_ _ovahkiir!"_ He recognized Eirin.

Nehenarah walked forward with her mouth hung open. She had never seen a dragon, only some of their scales and bones that her father had collected, and the skull of one that hung in Dragonsreach.

"How are you meant to help us up to the mountain? Are we to ride you?" Fjornir asked. Eirin and Nehenarah looked at him, stunned at hearing the concept.

" _Geh,_ _lundus,_ _"_ answered Odahviing.

Odahviing explained to Fjornir that Paarthurnax had created magic that would temporarily hold riders to the backs of dragons without fear of them falling off. Fjornir had learned several years ago a new Shout that bent the will of dragons, allowing him to ride them even if the dragons did not know him, so this new Shout would be very useful, he thought.

" _Nuz pek, joorre_. Mortal flesh needs protection from  _krah_ , the cold. We will wait for you to return prepared for the journey."

* * *

The family returned to Breezehome where they still stored some old clothes. Fjornir had completely forgotten about his birthday gift to Nehenarah. When they opened the door, Linnras Tyraevi was sitting by the fire, enjoying a mug of wine and reading a book. He looked up at the family as they entered, then put down his wine and book and stood immediately. "Harbinger, I was wondering when you would bring her by! I've moved into the bedroom downstairs, as you instructed."

Nehenarah watched the young Companion recruit whose words made absolutely no sense to her. She stared at his auburn dreadlocks which appeared on fire in the warm lighting of the small house. He was fully dressed, for a change, in thick hide clothing that covered more of his body than his old leather armor had. His gold-yellow eyes danced as they reflected the hearth flames.

Fjornir grumbled and mentally kicked himself for forgetting about his gift to his daughter. Had he not seen her with Brynjarr this morning, he would have taken her to Breezehome instead of yelled at her. "Nehenarah," he said quietly, "Happy Sixteenth Birthday." He swallowed hard.

The teenager stared at Linnras and then back at her father. "What, you're gifting me Linnras?"

Linnras coughed, covering his laughter. Eirin chuckled quietly. Fjornir, however, gasped in terror. "NO! No, 'Narah," he cleared his throat, "we're giving you Breezehome. It's yours, now." He handed her the key.

"Oh," she gladly accepted the key. "Really? My own home?"

"Yes, 'Narah," said Eirin, "all to yourself."

"Except for Linnras," added Fjornir. "He's to be your housecarl. Your guardian."

"Guardian? Why do I need a guardian?" she asked.

"Because you're my daughter," Fjornir said, as if that explained everything. Nehenarah began to wonder if Brynjarr and her father knew something that she didn't.  _Men_ , she thought.

"I hope that this is alright with you, Nehenarah." Linnras approached her. "I promise to stay out of your way, unless of course I am needed, which, I hope for safety's sake I am not." He smiled.

Nehenarah swallowed. Her mouth suddenly felt like it was filled with tundra cotton. "No, it's fine. I um... I sleep upstairs?" she asked her parents.

"Of course," answered Fjornir.

Nehenarah stared. "In... your old bed?"

"Naturally. Unless you prefer the small one across the hall," said her father.

Nehenarah made a face that Fjornir could not interpret. Eirin then whispered something at Fjornir. "Ah," he said. "We'll, um, have a new bed put in."

Linnras tried not to chuckle.

* * *

The Dragonborn listened and learned as each dragon Shouted the three Words,  _FEY BO ZOR_ , at Fjornir and his family, causing them to be surrounded by a silvery aura. When they climbed the backs of the dragons – Nehenarah on Odahviing and her parents on each of the green dragons – they became stuck in place. The sensation was unnerving, but Eirin and Nehenarah thought if Fjornir trusted the dragons, they should too.

" _Nuk!,"_  Odahviing commanded, "brace yourselves,  _joorre,_ for today you meet the sky!"

The ride to the top of the mountain was short, but terrifying for Eirin and Nehenarah. They had never felt the wind on their bodies as strongly, nor been this high above the ground, not even on a mountain half as tall as the Throat of the World. When they landed, Eirin vomited from motion sickness. Fjornir and Nehenarah were perfectly fine, and slid off the backs of the dragons to help Eirin.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she wiped her mouth, trying to stand up straight, but wobbled. Fjornir helped her, and let her lean on him.

The green dragons flew away off into the distance, but Odahviing stayed for a few more moments. " _Zin grind faal Dovahkiir,"_  he addressed Nehenarah. "We will meet again!" The ancient red dragon flew off to the north.

" _Dovahkiin_ ," sounded a deep voice from somewhere above. Fjornir and his family looked up to see a grey dragon perched upon the highest peak. The dragon lifted himself with his massive wings and soared in a circle, then landed in front of the group.

"Paarthurnax," Fjornir greeting the dragon.

" _Drem yol lok,_ wonderful to see you again, and to meet your family.  _Kirdahk_."

Nehenarah grasped her mother's hand.

"We have much to speak about,  _Dovahkiin,_  but first, there is someone who you and your kin should meet." Paarthurnax walked away from Fjornir and his family. A moment later, a flash of light appeared in the sky. The group looked up, watching the air above them waver as if heat rose from the mountaintop. A single spark grew in size until it appeared as if the air above the mountain was on fire. The three humans had to shield their eyes from the blinding light. Then, in an instant, the canopy of fire condensed into a single, enormous form – a golden, fiery dragon.


	9. The Snow Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn and Dragon Child meet Akatosh...
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: Erin McCarley “Pitter Pat”, Flyleaf “Enemy”, Paramore “My Hero”]

 The golden dragon was enormous, its wings perfect and unworn, and spanning wider than any dragon Fjornir had encountered before. The beast flew above the humans and Paarthurnax for a few moments, inspecting them, and eventually landed gracefully on the snow. While the dragon's scales appeared to be made of gold, under the scales shimmered a glowing fire.

Fjornir took several steps toward the golden dragon. He knew him at once. “Akatosh,” he whispered.

“ _Dovahkiir_ ,” the golden dragon spoke in Nehenarah's mind.

“What? I heard something,” Nehenarah said. “Akatosh?” she asked. “You mean...,” she stared at the golden dragon and approached, eventually standing next to her father.

“The _Dovahkiir_ must forgive Lord Akatosh for not speaking as I do. For Him to do so would likely end in tragedy for _joorsleno,_ your mortal flesh,” Paarthurnax said to the girl. “I can only do so due to hundreds of years of meditation. But, as you have heard, He speaks clearly in the mind of those who can hear Him.”

“Hear him? 'Narah, did you hear him?” Fjornir asked his daughter.

“I... I heard _some_ thing.” Nehenarah walked closer to the avatar of the God of Time. “Speak again?” she implored the dragon.

“ _Nehenarah, dii kiim, dii brit haarek, mu grind undagaar._ ” Nehenarah heard the words in her mind. She had heard some of those words before, over and over again, for most of her childhood.

“I know your voice!” she spoke excitedly.

“ _Pruzah_ ,” the voice said.

“But I don't understand!” Nehenarah said loudly.

“ _Dovahkiin,_ did you not teach _Dovahzul_ to your daughter?” asked Paarthurnax.

Eirin smirked. “I told you so,” she muttered at her husband.

Akatosh laughed and smoke puffed from his nostrils. “ _Sahkrenne mindiin Dovahkiir,”_ his thoughts spoke to Nehenarah.

“Lord Akatosh says that _Sahkrenne,_ the Tongues, will teach you, _Dovahkiir,_ ” Paarthurnax said.

“Tongues?” Fjornir asked. “You mean, people, like me?”

“ _Geh_ , mortals born with a gift for learning _Dovahzul_ ,” said Paarthurnax. “Like _Dovahkiin_ , but not. They are _Bron_ , human Nord. You are _Dovahkiin_ , your duties lie elsewhere.”

“What duties?” the Dragonborn asked.

“ _Mu tinvaakiin_. Return here once the _Dovahkiir_ is safe with the _Thu'umiikke,”_ Paarthurnax ordered Fjornir.

“ _Mu grindiin einzuk, dii kiim. Vonok!_ ” Akatosh's thoughts entered Nehenarah's mind and in an instant the golden dragon was lifting himself into the air and departing as he arrived, in a burst of blinding, burning light hovering over the mountain.

Nehenarah turned to her parents. She was speechless. _A god,_ she thought. _A god was Ghost Man_. She wondered what he had said to her all her childhood that her parents never told her, never taught her to understand, and what he had said that night in Windhelm. “Father,” she walked over to Fjornir, “what is going _on!?”_

–

“Ulfric,” Galmar Stone-Fist approached the King, “I'm afraid I have some... disconcerting news.” He handed Ulfric a folded piece of paper.

The retired soldier, still Ulfric's chief military advisor, had received the regularly-occurring scout's reports. These reports did not bear regular news.

“Falkreath...,” the King said in a shocked voice. “The entire Hold!?” He threw the papers to the floor.

“I'm afraid so,” answered Galmar. “The Thalmor were said to have come out of nowhere, though likely they came from Cyrodiil, through Pale Pass.”

“I thought we had towers all across the Pass?”

Galmar frowned. “We did. Destroyed, all of them. Magic, or some kind of artillery....”

Ulfric growled. “So it begins. We thought the Dominion would appear years ago.... ”

“They hid themselves well from us, but they were here, infiltrating, building their numbers.... The stone walls around Falkreath Hold were erected seemingly overnight. Again, the scouts suggest elven magic. The reports talk of thousands of Thalmor soldiers and battle-mages throughout the Hold, but I don't know how accurate that is. No word on the Jarl of Falkreath, but Helgen has been fortified and made into a stronghold.”

“ _Helgen_ ,” Ulfric bit at the word. “And what of the Dunmer and Argonians that relocated there from here?”

“No word, not yet. We assume at least the elves were allowed to live, but there's no way of knowing.”

Ulfric sneered as he smoothed his beard. “How many legions do we have now?”

“Seven, spread across the country. Two in Eastmarch. And the Companions in Whiterun are growing in numbers as well.”

“And the state of the legions? Morale? Supplies? How many Companions?”

“All holding steady. About one hundred new Companions, last I heard. I don't know the total.”

“Hmm,” Ulfric considered. “Write to all of the Jarls. We need to warn the country....” The King stood from his throne. “And write to Gerdur, in Riverwood. The village is so close to Helgen....” He looked to his right toward the war room. “Write to the Dragonborn. He leads the Companions, now, so I hear. Tell him we may have need for their... legendary services....” Ulfric walked away from Galmar into the war room where Ralof was speaking with new troop commanders.

Ralof looked up at Ulfric as he entered and knew from the look on his face that something was terribly wrong.

–

Fjornir, Eirin and Nehenarah sat before Arngeir in High Hrothgar. Borri, Wulfgar, and Einarth sat to the side of Arngeir, talking to him and each other using hand gestures. Fjornir thought that Arngeir looked pale.

“Dragonborn,” Arngeir turned to Fjornir, “as you may have gathered by now, the time has come for your daughter to follow the path that has been set out before her.”

“What path, Arngeir? Why is Akatosh speaking to my daughter, calling her his _beautiful wife!?_ ” Fjornir asked.

Nehenarah turned in shock toward her father. _What did he just say!?, s_ he thought.

“Because she can hear Him,” Arngeir said calmly. “She is a conduit, a medium, a vessel for the God Akatosh to communicate with the mortal world. Many Dragon Priests were once the same.... I myself am one, but, as you can see, I am not fit for battle any longer. ”

“Battle!?” Nehenarah asked.

Arngeir turned to the girl. “Yes, my dear Dragon Child, battle. Akatosh has given you His blessings and heightened your skills inherited from your mother.” The old man nodded at Eirin, then turned back to Nehenarah. “War is coming. A war on Time itself. Akatosh calls forth His sons and daughters to defend His creation. You are to be a beacon for the armies of men, a leader of the dragons that follow the Way. A symbolic union between dragons and man. Do not worry, Nehenarah, you will not actually be marrying the god.”

Fjornir and Eirin breathed a collective sigh a relief.

Nehenarah gulped. “But, I don't understand. Why me? Who am I? I'm not a warrior, I'm just.... I'm no one.”

The Greybeard smiled. “You are everything, Nehenarah. The birth of a Dragonborn is rare, but the birth of a Dragon Child.... Even to dragons, it is something of legend.”

“But what am I? What is a Dragon Child!?” the girl grew annoyed.

Arngeir held up his hands, apart. “When one of the souls of unborn twins is sacrificed, the bodies of the unborn twins merge,” his hands came together. “This is why you have two differently colored eyes, Nehenarah. When the merge takes place, an opening for another soul is left within the unborn child. This opening can be filled with good or evil, mortal or immortal souls, or left empty. Because your father is the Dragonborn, Nehenarah, you are the bearer of two souls, one which is your own, and the other, that of a dragon.”

“What?” Fjornir and Nehenarah asked simultaneously.

“Ralof,” Eirin said quietly.

Fjornir turned to her. “Ralof? When you saved him....”

“You saved a life while carrying Nehenarah?” Arngeir asked.

Eirin nodded. “With lightning, from my hands....”

Arngeir nodded. “The sacrifice.” The old Greybeard turned to Fjornir. “Everything that happened, between you, Dragonborn, and your wife, was meant to happen. The Divines willed it so. The timing was meticulous. Nehenarah bears two souls: one mortal, one dragon. She is destined to unite men and dragons once more and restore balance between the two races. She is destined to unite the lands and stand against the Thalmor. She is destined to prevent the uncreating of Nirn.”

The family stared at Arngeir.

And then Fjornir had a thought. He turned to Eirin. “The sparkling,” he said.

Eirin half-smiled and shrugged.

“The what?” Nehenarah asked.

Eirin turned to her daughter. “When you were conceived, I... I sparkled.”

Nehenarah made a face of disgust. She did not want to hear about her conception.

“The Arch-Mage of Winterhold told us it happened because of who I am. Who Eirin is,” said Fjornir to Arngeir.

“Because he overpowered my will, the Mer Will,” Eirin added.

“Father _overpowered_ you!?” Nehenarah asked, shocked.

Eirin laughed. “No, 'Narah, not like that. My mother's family is part Breton, and have some Aldmer blood in us. All Mer, Savos Aren told us, have the Mer Will, the ability to conceive a child or not. I had never known, before.... I didn't tell you because, with your father, it obviously didn't work that first time, and I didn't want you... em....”

“No, I get it, I get it,” Nehenarah waved off her mother.

“But you should know that herbs may not work for you,” Eirin said, looking her daughter directly in the eyes.

Nehenarah stared back at her mother, then nodded slowly. “Message received,” she answered.

Arngeir cleared his throat. “Actually, Eirin, the sparkling you mentioned had nothing to do with who Fjornir is. It was the Divine's will for you to conceive that night, for you to conceive twins, for the sacrifice, and so on. Your Arch-Mage was partly correct, however. Your Mer blood may have resisted the conception, but your defenses were breached. There would have been no way to stop it.”

Fjornir whispered to Eirin. “See, we really were meant for one another,” he smiled. Eirin grinned and kissed her husband.

“ _Ugh_ , Pa...,” Nehenarah groaned.

The Dragonborn ignored his daughter.

“Nehenarah,” Arngeir said to the girl, “I am told you know nothing of the _Thu'um_ , and the Way of the Voice. Myself and trained Tongues will instruct you.” The old Greybeard turned, covered his mouth, and coughed several times. He slowly turned back to Nehenarah. “We must work as quickly as possible, but I suspect you will not have much trouble learning, as was the way with your father. We will start in the morning.”

“Paarthurnax mentioned that he and I needed to speak about my duty. I thought my fate was to kill Alduin. What else is needed of me?” asked Fjornir.

Arngeir exhaled slowly. “You are to follow in the footsteps of those before you, Ysmir,” answered the Greybeard. He addressed the Dragonborn by his lesser known epithet.

“Ysmir?” Eirin whispered. “What does he mean, Fjornir?”

The Dragonborn frowned and held Eirin's hand. He hoped he was wrong about what Arngeir meant. At nearly fifty years old, he felt too old for battle. “ _When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding,_ _t_ _he World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn,_ ” Fjornir muttered the final words of the Dragonborn Prophecy.

“ _And when the World-Eater_ _sleeps again, and the Wound is healed,_ _the Fire of the North shall be ignited_ _as the_ _Unt_ _imely_ _End comes_ _,”_ Arngeir added.

Fjornir stared at Arngeir. “I do not know that line,” he said.

“Not many do,” the Greybeard replied.

“Fjornir, please, what does this all mean?” Eirin asked, tugging at her husband's sleeve. Nehenarah sat in silence, unsure of what to think.

“What do you think it means, Dragonborn?” Arngeir asked.

Fjornir thought a moment. “The Aldmeri Dominion,” he answered quietly. “The Thalmor are coming. They wish to return to... outside of Time. They wish to undo Creation.”

Arngeir nodded. “The Thalmor are already here. The time for this world to truly end has not yet come, and their petulance angers Akatosh. The Fire the verse speaks of holds a triple meaning. It means the passion of the Nords, as well as the Beacon – the Dragon Child – as well as the signal that will summon the Tongues to High Hrothgar.”

“What signal?” Fjornir asked.

Arngeir smiled. The old Greybeard stood with the help of Borri. They proceeded to walk out of the foyer of High Hrothgar and outside, down the front steps. The Greybeards turned back to the acropolis and looked up. At the very top of the central tower burned an enormous flame reaching nearly to the height of a dragon. “A piece of Akatosh Himself,” Arngeir said. “A never-ending flame to light their way.”

Fjornir turned from the flame to Arngeir. “When you said I was to follow in the steps of those before me, did you mean I was to follow the path of Talos?”

Arngeir stepped up to Fjornir and grasped his shoulder. “You already are, Ysmir. You have been since the day you were born. You will lead a great army and destroy those who wish to end the world, and when the world is saved, you will rebuild it.”

“But what army? I have no army,” Fjornir said.

The old Greybeard smiled. “You will, Dragonborn.” He turned to Nehenarah. “ _Her_ army.”

Fjornir and Eirin turned to Nehenarah. The color faded from the girl's face.


	10. Guarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nehenarah's guardian delivers some gifts...
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: Rosi Golan “Can't Go Back”, Dan Garnett “Life Spend Giving”, Ken “Shall Be Removed”, Lifehouse “Everything”, Imagine Dragons “Bleeding Out”]

**Chapter 10 – Guarded**

**[Chapter soundtrack: Rosi Golan “Can't Go Back”, Dan Garnett “Life Spend Giving”, Ken “Shall Be Removed”, Lifehouse “Everything”, Imagine Dragons “Bleeding Out”]**

**\--**

Seven days had passed since the incident in Jorrvaskr, and still Brynjarr heard snickers and laughter as he passed by groups of people in the mead hall. He intensified his training with the impartial Farkas, preferring the one-on-one interaction with his trainer to group training. Brynjarr was improving fast with one-handed swords and shield defenses, but his body ached all the time, and he wondered if Nehenarah were there if she could Heal his tight muscles.

Eirin had told Brynjarr everything that happened on the mountain. He didn't want to believe any of it. He lay awake too often at night wondering if he would ever see his friend again. Eirin grew very quite soon after she returned, Brynjarr noticed, and she spent all of her time with her other children and Haming's little ones.

Fjornir had returned two days after Eirin. The rumors spreading around town that the Dragonborn and his family were being transported up and down the mountain by dragons were true. Dragons had been seen circling both the mountain and Whiterun for days, but none of them attacked, which confused the townspeople. They watched as the green and brown beasts rested calmly at the four corners surrounding the town walls. None of the dragons dared approach town and especially not the Great Porch, but spectators in the palace would often gaze upon the dragons that sat and watched the town form the northern meadows. They didn't know if they were being guarded, or imprisoned. However, after guards on the southern wall watched a courier walk toward the town and passed a dragon unharmed, the citizens of Whiterun began to feel comforted rather than terrified.

Upon returning, Fjornir went straight to the Jarl with the news of the Thalmor and of Falkreath, and sure enough days later a message from Windhelm arrived bearing the same information, and one request. High King Ulfric begged the Jarl for his daughter, Princess Bera, to be kept safe in Dragonsreach. Ulfric feared that Windhelm would be a prime target. He also recommended that the town prepare for attack, and to perhaps evacuate the citizens of Riverwood and bring them within the safety of their walls. The Stormcloak legion in Whiterun Hold would be transferred to be under the command of Jarl Gudvar, the son of the passed Vignar Gray-Mane. The legion would assist in the recommended evacuation.

While Brynjarr and Farkas took a rest from their practice combat and ate their midday meal, a courier handed Brynjarr a letter. “From the King,” the courier said before leaving to make more deliveries.

Immediately Brynjarr's mind targeted the only plausible reason why King Ulfric would write him personally: his father, Ralof, who had moved permanently to the eastern city of Windhelm, had died. Farkas watched as Brynjarr clenched his jaws and stared at the unopened, wax-sealed letter.

“Well, if it's from the King I suppose you should open the damn thing,” Farkas said to Brynjarr. He smeared soft goat cheese on fresh bread and shoved chunk after chunk into his mouth, then downed the meal with mead. Brynjarr continued to stare at the letter. “Just gimme that,” Farkas grunted, snatching the letter from the boy. “Now, eat something before I decide not to tell you what this says.”

“A gold coin says my father has died,” Brynjarr said coldly.

“Damn, kid. I thought bedding your girl would have cheered you up some.” Farkas thumbed the wax seal open and read the contents.

Brynjarr's stomach knotted. Everyone in Jorrvaskr assumed he and Nehenarah had lost their virginity that night. He didn't correct them, and he felt awkward about withholding the truth. He had been both teased for running from Fjornir, half naked, down the hallway, and congratulated for not being killed immediately when discovered by Nehenarah's father. He had also received several comments and compliments on the size of “what his father gave him”, the words people used. He blushed just thinking about it.

Farkas looked up from the letter and stared at the boy. “Eat,” he commanded. “And drink water, not mead. You're too stiff.”

Brynjarr tore away small pieces of bread and nibbled, but drank considerable amounts of water.

Farkas grunted, read the letter once more, then refolded the paper and tucked it into his armor. With a thud, his arm crashed down onto the small wooden table, palm up, fingers cupped. He smiled at Brynjarr.

“What?” the boy grumbled.

“Pay up,” Farkas replied, moving his fingers up and down to signal the desire for his gold coin.

Brynjarr raised an eyebrow at his trainer. “Show me,” he demanded.

Farkas retrieved the letter from his armor and handed it to its intended recipient.

Brynjarr read the letter and let it fall to the wooden patio floor. He grabbed Farkas's mug of mead and downed the remaining contents, then threw the mug somewhere out of sight.

“Who knew King Ulfric preferred the fellas,” Farkas grinned.

Brynjarr scowled at Farkas. “Get your paw away from me,” he said as he shoved Farkas's arm off the table.

“Hey now, a bet's a bet. Besides,” Farkas stood from the table and sighed as he bent to pick up the letter, “with an attitude like that, you'll never convince a young lady to accompany you to your father's wedding.”

–

Linnras Tyraevi and three Companion recruits ascended the seven thousand steps to High Hrothgar. On horseback, the journey was no trouble at all. Agata was decent with her bow and arrow, and was able to dispatch the occasional bear and wolf without bothering to dismount. They agreed that the entire path from the base of the mountain was far less than even one thousand steps, and that their entire mission would be easy.

Linnras lead the way toward the entry to the massive building. “Should we knock, or just go in?” he asked the others.

“Knock, I guess, since we weren't exactly invited,” Agata answered.

“No, though the Harbinger did tell us to come here,” Linnras said. He shrugged and knocked anyway, five hard knocks on the door, followed by long, cold moments of waiting. Even with fur robes, the group of four was shivering.

Finally, the door opened, and an old man – a Greybeard, the group presumed – stared at the young adults. When the old man said nothing, the Companions shared awkward looks with one another.

Linnras spoke first. “The Dragonborn sent us to see his daughter, Nehenarah,” he said, forcing his teeth not to chatter.

The old man squinted at him, then turned to the others.

“We were sent by the Companions of Jorrvaskr on a mission,” Linnras continued. “We come bearing messages for Nehenarah from her family. And gifts.” He showed the Greybeard the letters for Nehenarah and large sacks that each of them carried.

In a barely-audible whisper, the old man voiced _“Vahzen_ ,” sending a swirl of white light around the group of four and rumbling the ground beneath their feet. The light clung to the Companions for a moment, then dissipated.

Satisfied, the Greybeard nodded, then stepped away from the door to allow the group to enter.

The foyer was surprisingly warm, and the Companions shed their fur robes. Linnras retrieved the satchel full of gifts for Nehenarah. He walked up to the Greybeard. “Can I take these to her?” he asked.

The old man gave a slight nod and turned. Linnras followed with the recruits several steps behind him. The Greybeard stopped at a door and knocked slowly three times, then stepped back. Linnras stood off to the side of the doorway. Nehenarah opened what appeared to be her bedroom door, and the Greybeard directed her attention to Linnras.

“Linnras? What are you doing here?” she asked, confused.

Her guardian stepped forward. “These are for you, from your family,” he said. “Your father made a sort of... mission out of the journey.”

“What's in it?” she asked.

Linnras entered her bedroom and set the satchel down on a chair. “Letters from your siblings and niece and nephew, treats from your mother, some clothing. We also brought a large supply of food for everyone here.” He watched as Nehenarah examined the contents excitedly. “I, eh,” he cleared his throat. “I also brought one more gift,” he said.

Nehenarah looked up at Linnras. Her bronze-skinned guardian moved aside from the door way, and stepping in from the shadows was a familiar face. Nehenarah dropped the letter she held in her hand, then ran up to the visitor, wrapping her arms solidly around the young man. “Brynjarr,” she said quietly, burying her face into his chest.

Linnras smiled, and shut the bedroom door to give them some privacy. The silent Greybeard gave Linnras an inquisitive look, but then turned to leave. Linnras chuckled and smiled at Agata and Rik. He walked with them back to the foyer to unpack the supplies of food that they brought. When they finished, they set out their bedrolls and settled in for the night.

–

Nehenarah clung to Brynjarr in her bedroom. The tears came the moment the door closed and they were alone. “I can't do this, I can't do this,” Nehenarah said over and over.

“Yes you can,” Brynjarr said. “Your mother told me everything. You were born to do this, 'Narah.”

“Stay here with me?” she sniffled.

Brynjarr frowned. “I can't....” He backed away from her and slumped down onto her bed with his head in his hands.

Nehenarah sat next to him and wrapped an arm around him. “Why not? I don't think the Greybeards would mind....”

“It's not... that's not why. I mean, it is, but....” He brushed his longer strands of blonde hair out of his face. Nehenarah then noticed he was growing it out again, This made her happy. “I need to go to Windhelm.” Brynjarr looked up at Nehenarah. “My father is getting married.”

Nehenarah's jaw dropped. “Well, that's great B'!” Her smile faded when Brynjarr continued to frown. “It's not great?” Brynjarr shook his head. “It's bad?” Brynjarr nodded. “But... I don't understand, B'. Don't you want your father to be happy?”  
  
“Of course I do, I just....” He fell back onto the bed with his legs dangling off the side. “You know the Queen was found murdered, right?”

Nehenarah nodded.

“It wasn't that long ago. Don't you think it's a bit soon? What will people think!?”

Nehenarah stared down at her friend. “I think the people have more important things to worry about right now.”

Brynjarr reached out and grasped Nehenarah's left hand. “You're still wearing it,” he said softly, examining his birthday gift to her.

“Of course I am.” Nehenarah leaned back next to her friend. She spun the bracelet around her wrist. “I'll never take it off.”

Brynjarr linked his fingers with Nehenarah's. “Never?”

Nehenarah turned on her side and nestled against Brynjarr's body. “Never.” She kissed him. “How long can you stay?”

“Just tonight.... After the wedding,” he sighed, “we need to escort Princess Bera to Whiterun.”

“To Whiterun? Wouldn't she be safer in Windhelm?”

“That's what I thought, but it's what the King wants. Perhaps he considers himself a target.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Dez will be thrilled. She can't stop talking about the Princess.”

“I can't believe Ulfric disowned his son, though.”  
  
“Not his son, I hear.”

“No, but still. It just seems cruel.”

“If you were married and you found out your children were not your own, what would you do?” Nehenarah asked.

Brynjarr caressed Nehenarah's cheek. “I don't know,” he answered. “But... aunt Gerdur says I remind her of my mother, like I'm a true mix of her and father. She said once that it was sometimes hard for my father to be around me, especially the first few years. I suppose it's something like that. Like, if my mother had lived and if I was not his son and he found out, I suppose he would have stuck around then, too, even if it upset him. If Ulfric can't do that for the son he raised as his own.... I don't know, I suppose I just haven't felt right about the situation since I found out.”

“Is it just because your father loves another man?”

“No. I don't think anyone really cares about that. I know I don't.” Brynjarr wrapped both arms around Nehenarah who snuggled in closer. “Actually, I found out that my mother preferred women before marrying my father.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was really little, and I remember, I found this weird stone in my father's dresser. I don't remember what I was looking for, but I thought it was really weird and interesting, so I brought it over to my father and asked him what it was.” Brynjarr frowned. “I think I remember this well because of how much he scared me by his reaction. He grabbed the stone and ran out of the house, and threw it like a madman into White River. He screamed for a long time at the river, at the mountains, at the air. I don't remember what he said, but he scared Gerdur and she came running and grabbed me. I think she was worried he would hurt me.” Brynjarr ran his fingers through Nehenarah's hair. “He scared me a lot back then, when I was little, but he got better. I didn't know what the stone was at the time, but I remembered it really well, and then a few years later I saw... well, I figured it out. It was... it was carved into the shape of a man's parts.”

“A man's parts!?”

“Yeah, you know....”

“Ohh. Wow. I never heard of such a thing....”

“I guess it's not common, but, I don't know, really.”

“Hmph....” Nehenarah's hand felt the smoothness of Brynjarr's hide armor chest piece. “Speaking of man-parts....”

“Hmm?”

Nehenarah shifted her body partly on top of Brynjarr's and kissed him. “When will I see you again?” Her hand drifted down and into Brynjarr's trousers.

Brynjarr moaned. “I don't know, 'Narah....”

She kissed him again, and felt herself start to cry. “I want you to stay,” she said, her voice cracking mid-sentence.

Brynjarr cupped her cheeks. “I know you do.” He kissed her briefly. “But, all of the things you're meant to do.... It's you, and you alone, 'Narah. I would only be a distraction here. I can do more good with the Companions. I already am, offering to escort the Princess to Whiterun.”

Nehenarah sniffled. “You really would be a distraction,” she laughed, and then smiled.

“See,” he kissed her nose. “I'll visit when I can, I promise.”  
  


“Good.”

Brynjarr leaned forward and kissed Nehenarah fiercely. He rolled her onto her back, and let his hand drift beneath her shirt, feeling her warm skin. Nehenarah tugged at Brynjarr's armor, urging him to remove it. When she couldn't figure out the buckles, she laughed, breaking their kiss.

“Your armor doesn't want me to see you naked,” she joked.

Brynjarr laughed. He leaned back, straddling Nehenarah's legs, and deftly undid the buckles and straps, peeling the hide chest piece from his body. Underneath was a simple linen shirt which he quickly removed. Nehenarah ran her hand across Brynjarr's chest and stopped at a small scar.

“You were hurt,” she said softly.

“It was nothing,” he said, grasping her hand, leading her palm slowly down toward his waist. He tugged at his waist buckle and let his trousers fall to his knees. He leaned forward again and kissed Nehenarah. Their tongues felt each other's heat.

When Brynjarr's mouth left Nehenarah's to move lower along her body, she made her request. “I think we should... you know.”

Brynjarr propped himself up on one arm and looked at her. “I don't think it's a good idea, 'Narah, especially with all that you will need to do....”

“I don't care,” she protested. “Besides, I likely won't get pregnant anyway.”

“You wouldn't?”

“Not if my mother is right.” Brynjarr raised an eyebrow. “Apparently somewhere in my family I have elf ancestry. It means I won't get pregnant if I don't want to... and if the gods don't want me to,” Nehenarah elaborated. “At least... the chances are low.”

Brynjarr sighed. “'Narah, I don't want to take chances on this.”

Nehenarah half-smiled. “Alright, alright. It's fine.” She tugged at his arm so that he lowered himself again. “I guess... it can wait. Until this is over.”

“It can,” he said.

When Brynjarr's lips found that special spot on her neck and his fingers found that special spot between her legs, she wondered how long it would be until she felt Brynjarr's touch again.

–

Nehenarah had said her goodbyes to Brynjarr before he left her bedroom. She knew if she let herself walk with him to the foyer, she would chain him down somehow and refuse to let him leave. She crawled back into bed for a while, letting herself cry.

Around what she guessed was midday, she put on her warm clothes and walked out into the courtyard. She was angry, sad and scared, and needed to vent. Aiming at the sky, she shot out bolts of lightning from her palms with no effort at all. Flash after flash, she lit up the sky with her anger. She lost herself in the tirade, not realizing she was shouting obscenities at Fate itself.

She didn't hear the man approaching behind her. “Nehenarah?” the voice called, but was drowned by the din she created. She fried the snow-covered ground in front of her, and steam rose from the carved streaks. “Nehenarah!”

The shout startled her and without thinking she sent bolts of lightning in the direction of the noise, wanting to destroy the world that betrayed her and everyone in it. In her daze she didn't even look to see who it was she was attacking. A translucent blue orb of light surrounded her target, and she realized her attack did nothing. She tried harder, willing the lightning to fry the intruder.

Nehenarah was not prepared for the invisible force that came pounding into her from the direction of the orbed man. The impact knocked the wind out of her and forced her to stop her attack. She stood, braced for retaliation, panting, waiting to see who had sent some kind of invisible magic at her. She readied her hands for a second round of lightning. Her palms sparkled in preparation.

When the blue orb light began to dissipate she saw her chance. A split second before she was ready to attack, she saw the face of her opponent. Her hands dropped to her sides, and the sparks faded. When she found the wherewithal to close her jaw, she eventually sounded out the man's name.

“Linnras? What... _what in Tamriel_ are you doing!? What was that!? Why... why are you still _here?_ ”

Linnras clenched his jaw and walked up to the girl. “Your father asked me to protect you. That's what I'm doing. Or, trying to. You're not making it very easy.”

“But... in Breezehome. Not here. I don't need a guardian here.”

“You never know...,” he said. “I'm also here to help you.”

“Help me what? As you can plainly see I don't need anyone's help.” She rested her fists on her hips.

Linnras smiled. “How did I get you to stop attacking me? Before you saw who I was....”

Nehenarah stared back at him. “I... what do you mean? I don't know. Obviously you're some kind of mage.”

“Obviously...,” he repeated. “What made you stop your initial attack?”

She stared again. “I don't know. Something hit me. Like a gust of wind or... more like... like a boulder made of air.”

Linnras laughed. “A boulder made of air?” He chuckled and shook his head, then walked away from her several paces and turned again. He was smiling at Nehenarah somewhat wickedly. Without warning, he shouted something at her. “ _FUS... ROH.”_

The boulder of air hit her body harder that time, sending her stumbling back, forcing her to catch her breath again.

“What...,” she looked up in pain at Linnras. “What in all of Nirn was _that!?”_

Linnras smiled and walked up to Nehenarah, offered her his arm to lean on which she readily accepted, and led her to the back entrance of High Hrothgar and sat her down. He sat beside her. “That, was a Shout. The _Thu'um._ Haven't you ever seen your father do it?”

Nehenarah rubbed her upper chest. “A couple times. I've seen him breathe fire like a dragon.”

Linnras turned away from her, lifted his mouth toward the sky, and Shouted, “ _YOL.”_

“Yeah! That! Wait.... Wait, are you?... Wait....”

Linnras laughed. “I'm a Tongue, Nehenarah. Your father is as well, but as the Dragonborn, he's much more adept than I and the others are.”

“A Tongue? But... I thought Tongues were Nords.”

“Not always. Some very special damn dirty foreigners are Tongues as well.”

“I... I didn't mean--”

Linnras held up his hand. “I know, I was just being facetious.”

“Oh. So... you've been here before then? Trained here?”

“Yes, I've been here before. Then I saw the fire on the tower,” he pointed to the flame Akatosh had lit over one week ago. “I was being summoned. Others will hopefully come too. We'll all be here to teach you, Dragon Child. I especially will be happy to do so, considering the promise I made to your father to protect you. I was going to come anyway, with the gifts from your family, and then offered to travel with Brynjarr and the others to lighten their load of the supplies.”

Nehenarah nodded, but said nothing.

Linnras frowned. “Nehenarah, I know how... intense, this all must be for you. Believe me, everyone is a little frightened. But this is your destiny. You will be... you _are_ extraordinary.”

Nehenarah frowned. “Is this why you came to Whiterun? Joined the Companions.... Volunteered to be my housecarl!?” she asked accusingly.

Linnras sighed. “Yes. No. Yes. I knew who and what you were, where the Dragonborn's family lived, but I didn't know if anything would actually happen, nor did I know that you would be Called not long after I arrived in Whiterun. I joined the Companions because I knew I could help, seeming as how I would be in the town anyway.”

She grimaced. “You do realize that all sounds kind of creepy, right?”

Linnras chuckled. “If being 'creepy' is what it takes to keep you safe, I'll do it.”

Nehenarah groaned, but realized Linnras really was acting in her own best interest. “I guess I shouldn't complain, then.”

“You can complain all you want, but it won't do any good. You're stuck with me. 'Never Alone'.” He smiled.

She turned to Linnras. “Do you know Dragonspeak? I mean, aside from those Shouts, like my father?”

Linnras nodded.

“Can you teach me?”

He nodded again.

“Now?”

He turned to Nehenarah. “ _Nu._ ” He smiled.


	11. A Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric and Ralof get married!
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack: Malcolm Middleton "Ballad of Fuck All", Greg Laswell "And Then You", James Morrison "Better Man", Mirah "Cold Cold Water"]

Nehenarah nibbled on her midday meal while watching Linnras. She was intrigued by him. When she first saw him, she thought he looked about twenty years old, but having spent some time with him now, he seemed older. He no longer teased her and flirted with her as he had done back in Whiterun, but rather reminded her of her father in the way he acted – perfectly professional. She looked across the courtyard to the other Tongues that arrived. They were all about her father's age or older. She realized that Linnras never told her where he was from, and wondered what sort of race he was to be able to accomplish in twenty years what others strive to do in twice as long.

"Linnras?" she said.

"Hmm?" He was munching on a strip of dried meat.

"How come you're so much younger than the other Tongues, but already know so much of the dragon language?"

Linnras smiled. "Just how young do you think I am?"

Nehenarah popped a dried berry into her mouth. "Twenty," she said.

The man smiled. "I suppose that's about right."

Nehenarah raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't know?"

Linnras grinned. "No, I know how old I am, but it's nice to know I only look twenty."

Nehenarah leaned forward, examining her guardian. "So... how old  _are_  you?"

Linnras sipped some honey water from a mug and leaned in close to Nehenarah. He motioned for her to lean in closer so that he could whisper to her. He pressed his cheek to hers so that his mouth reached her ear. And then, he whispered, "I'll never tell." Nehenarah sat back in her chair, clearly disappointed in Linnras's answer. This amused Linnras greatly, and he let out a contented sigh. "My people... we age differently from humans. And, where I'm from, everyone speaks  _Dovahzul_ , fluently. It was terribly easy for me to study the  _Thu'um_  because of that, long ago..."

"And where  _are_ you from? You never said." She quickly held up a finger. "'Far away' is _not_  an answer." Nehenarah could see the muscles in the man's jaw clench and unclench.

Finally, after apparently contemplating whether or not to tell Nehenarah, he looked away, and answered. "Originally...," his finger traced the outline of the rim of his mug, "Akavir."

Nehenarah thought a moment. "Never heard of it."

Linnras's yellow eyes narrowed. "Don't read many books then, I take it?"

Nehenarah shook her head. "Not really."

Linnras was thankful for that. He changed the subject. "Translate:  _Fahliil_."

Nehenarah smirked. She wanted to talk more about Linnras, not have a vocabulary lesson. "Um...," Nehenarah thought, "elf."

" _Lahvu."_

"Army."

" _Lahzey."_

Nehenarah stared at her mentor. She realized that something about him annoyed her. "I don't know."

"Think," he ordered.

"Think is  _lorot_ ," she answered.

"No, Nehenarah, think about the word."

Nehenarah sighed. "Um... mage?"

"Mhmm," Linnras nodded.

Nehenarah ate another dried berry. "What's 'sky' again?"

" _Lok,"_  Linnras obliged.

" _Lok los bii,_ " she said slowly.

"Good," Linnras smiled.

" _Pruzah_ ," Nehenarah said.

Her guardian and mentor chuckled. "Alright, enough of that for now. Try the Shout I taught you this morning."

The pair stood and walked over to the edge of the courtyard. Nehenarah breathed deeply, slowly, several times, her eyes closed, and then she eyed a pile of rocks in the distance. Focusing her energy, she inhaled, then breathed out: " _FUS... RO DAH."_  The pile of rocks scattered away from her, several rolling clear off the mountainside. And then Nehenarah landed on her backside in the snow.

"Nehenarah!" Linnras ran over to her. "What happened? Are you alright?" He helped her stand.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just dizzy."

"Here, have some water," he handed her a canteen and she drank heavily. "Odd, I never heard of a Tongue getting dizzy from one Shout."

Nehenarah shrugged. "I guess I'm just not who you all thought I was. I should just go home."

"Hmph, nice try, Dragon Child. You're just tired today. And cranky." He smirked. "Come to think of it, you're always cranky."

"Maybe it's because you and the others won't give me a moment of peace," she snapped.

"Sure we do, every night while you sleep."

Nehenarah groaned.

"Look, Nehenarah, this is serious. I know Arngeir already gave you that lecture, so I won't repeat it, but you do need to remember his words. I know this is overwhelming and constant, but it's absolutely necessary, I assure you. I'm sure your father went through the same process."

"Yeah, when he was like, almost twice my age."

"And I'm sure he was just as reluctant as you _,"_ Linnras retorted. "Though likely not nearly as whiny."

Nehenarah glowered weakly at the bronze-skinned Companion.

"Try the Shout again," he ordered.

"It made me dizzy last time. It's too much."

Linnras walked up close to Nehenarah, grabbed her chin with his hand and inspected her face. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked pale. She shook Linnras's hand off of her. "That's because you're not eating enough," Linnras crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Nehenarah kicked snow around with her thick hide boot. "I'm not hungry much," she mumbled.

"Mhmm. Alright then. No more  _Dovahzul_ lessons."

"What? No! I need to learn it to communicate with dragons!"

"So you're willing to learn that, but not Shouts? The communication aspect is hardly important compared to the other. We've already had that discussion. No," Linnras turned to walk away.

"Please! Linnras, come on..."

"Not until I see you eating like a pregnant woman," Linnras kept walking.

"A  _what?_ Why?" She jogged up to follow him. "But I'm not pregnant."

"You're not eating enough to compensate for the energy loss. Learning Shouts is tiring. _Teaching_ Shouts is tiring...," he sighed. "You've seen how much Aran, Stjarna and myself eat. We'd all be as big as houses if it weren't for us training you all day long." Linnras turned back to the girl and pinched her collar bone. "I could snap you like a chicken bone by just  _looking_  at you."

Nehenarah swatted Linnras's hand away. "Could not," she huffed.

"Try me," he snarled in her face, then turned away, his auburn dreadlocks whipping Nehenarah in the face.

* * *

Brynjarr forced back the meal he felt rising from his stomach. Nerves and unease had plagued him the entire ride to Windhelm and had remained ever since. The reunion with his father was awkward; the reunion with King Ulfric was unbearable. The King attempted to appear jovial and welcoming, but to Brynjarr he just came off as insincere.

The wedding was to be a small affair, attended by the palace staff, the captain of the Windhelm guard, Princess Bera, Brynjarr, Galmar, and various political friends of the King. The wedding would not be completely official – travel to Riften would have been too risky – but a Priestess of Mara was escorted to the palace for the occasion, and this was good enough for Ulfric and Ralof.

The night before the wedding, Ralof visited his son in his own guestroom and sat down beside him on the bed, their backs reclined against the headrest. He knew Brynjarr wasn't terribly keen on the marriage, and naturally this bothered Ralof.

"Want to talk about it?" Ralof asked his son.

"No," Brynjarr replied gruffly.

Ralof folded his hands on his lap. "Too bad," he grinned. Brynjarr scowled. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about us before. Ulfric and I... we go way back. About thirty years. This should have happened decades ago... But, if it had, you wouldn't be here." He looked over at Brynjarr. "You know I would never change what happened. Any of it. Losing your mother was...," he cleared his throat, "I'll never truly be over that. She and I were best friends. Absolute best..." He wiped a rogue tear away from his cheek. "Like you and Nehenarah. And I know it was hard for us, in the beginning, and you probably remember some of it... I'm glad Gerdur was there for you when I went away. I had to go, every so often. It was like a hunger. Ulfric helped me heal. Seeing you grow to be the man you are... that healed me too."

"And what sort of man am I? You haven't exactly been around much lately, you know..."

Ralof frowned. "One day, you'll realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, and you will want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Brynjarr looked at his father. "When did you know?"

The veteran soldier smiled. "If I was paying attention, I would have realized it when I was about twenty, twenty-one. But, I was blinded by the loss of someone I thought was my soulmate."

"Eirin?" Brynjarr asked.

Ralof gave an inquisitive look. "You know about that?"

"Yeah, 'Narah told me." Brynjarr tugged at a loose thread on his linen tunic. "You were with Ulfric that long ago?"

"Mhmm. On and off... Not really with him, but... together, whenever we could be."

Brynjarr felt horrible. He suddenly realized how much his father truly loved Ulfric. "How can you tell if someone is your soulmate?"

Ralof smiled. "You just know, Bryn. Very unhelpful answer, I know. But it's true. No one can tell you what it feels like."

"So... my mother... she wasn't your soulmate?" Brynjarr looked up at his father.

"She was," Ralof sighed, "in her own way, she was very much the mate of my soul. No one ever said you can only have one, after all. There are many different kinds of love... Your mother and I... it was easy. So easy. We just... came together, and it stuck. She made me a better person. And you... well, she gave me you, and you are very much like her."

"So I'm told."

"Well, it's true. With you around, she'll never truly be gone." Ralof pinched his son's cheek, which he hated, which is why Ralof did it. Brynjarr chuckled and swatted his father's hand away. "Did I tell you she came to me as a ghost? When you were several months old?"

"No. She did!?"

"She did, just before her soul went to Sovngarde."

"Wow. Did she say anything?"

Ralof nodded. "She told me to live my life. Do well by you, but be happy. She knew about Ulfric. Always had. As I said, she was my best friend. She gave me her blessing fifteen years ago."

Brynjarr frowned. "Were you happy, all this time?" He looked his father in the eyes.

Ralof's lips formed a sad smile. "Life isn't about always being happy. No one is ever happy every single day of their life. That isn't normal. People make sacrifices for others, for love, so others can have a good life and can be happy themselves. It's true, I sacrificed some of my life to do the best I could by you, but that's what fathers are for. I couldn't work much anymore, not with this busted arm of mine, so I just brought you up best I could. Occasionally, I indulged myself selfishly and handed you off to Gerdur for a week or so every few months. She didn't mind, though, and I'm hoping you didn't, either. I'm sorry if you did."

"I didn't. I just never understood. But I'm glad you were doing something that made you happy..."

"Like you, coming here. It means everything to me that you are, even if you didn't want to be." Ralof looked at the young man that looked exactly like Bryna.

"I didn't. I didn't want to. I heard about the Queen and... But, I didn't know you were really, like, in love with the King. Does he love you back?"

"He better." The men laughed. "Yes, he does, very much so."

"Good."

Ralof cleared his throat. "Bryn, there's another matter I wanted to talk to you about." Brynjarr waited, anxious. "You'll be sixteen, soon, and Ulfric and I talked about this extensively..."

"Talked about what?"

Ralof clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. "Now, before you answer, please promise to consider what I'm about to say."

Brynjarr was suddenly worried. "Alright, I promise."

"As you have probably heard, Ulfric's wife... the Queen had been... unfaithful."

"Yes, I heard. I also heard she was murdered."

Ralof frowned. "She was. We suspect she planned the assassination on herself, through the Dark Brotherhood, as a sort of revenge on Ulfric. It's... it's terribly complicated, and quite frankly tragic, but, in any case... Her eldest son Hungeirr was proven to be not of Ulfric's blood, and the King disowned him."

"Yes, I've heard..."

"And though Ulfric still has Princess Bera as an heir, he has no other children."

Brynjarr did not like where this was going.

"Bryn, when Ulfric and I are married, Ulfric would like to adopt you, officially. You would be his son as much as you are mine. You would, in a way, be an heir to the kingdom. You would inherit part of his estate, when..." Ralof turned to his son. "I have nothing to give you but the house you were born in and what's in it. If you agree to this... and you don't have to... you would inherit so much more. You would be taken care of, at least financially."

Brynjarr gulped. "I would be a Prince?"

Ralof nodded.

"But, the Princess... I'm older than her. And she's Ulfric's true daughter, right? Skyrim is hers, by right."

"Yes, yes, all true. But this would benefit him and me as much as it would you. He would have a second heir. There is no catch, no requirements, except for saying yes. Like I said, don't answer now. Wait until after the wedding, several days, as long as it takes. But... Bryn, war is coming. You've heard of the Aldmeri Dominion?"

"Yes, from Fjornir. 'Narah is..." Brynjarr suddenly realized he never told his father about what happened to his friend. "Oh, gods. Father, I never told you, about 'Narah..."

"What about her?"

* * *

Ulfric lay in his bed and held his husband in his arms. "At last," he said softly. "No more hiding, no more secret room..."

Ralof laughed. "That damned secret room. Clever, it really was, but I felt so... dirty... when we used it."

"And dirty is a bad thing?" Ulfric emitted a low growl and bit at Ralof's shoulder, causing the man to gasp.

"Hey," he laughed again. Ralof kissed his husband, then gazed at him in the candlelight. His fingers felt the length of one of Ulfric's braids. "I talked to Brynjarr."

"And?"

"Well, he didn't say 'no'."

"A good sign."

"Indeed. I also have some other news. Good news. Great, in fact. But, first," Ralof traced a path from Ulfric's chest to his waist, "I think I should make love to my new husband."

"I'll allow it," Ulfric grinned, folding his hands beneath his head.

Ralof's hand traveled lower, discovering Ulfric was well on his way to being ready for him. Ralof kissed his way down Ulfric's body, then slowly took Ulfric's swollen manhood into his mouth. Ralof felt Ulfric's body rumble in a pleasureful growl. The couple took their time, relishing in the fact that there was no need to hurry, be quiet, or care who knew they were with one another.

Ulfric tugged Ralof's hand, pulling him back up for a kiss. He reached down and firmly grasped Ralof's girth. Ralof moaned through their kiss. Ulfric rolled Ralof onto his back, and nipped and nibbled his torso as he worked his way down. He took the length of Ralof into his mouth, simultaneously readying Ralof to receive him. The snowberry leaf oil was ready at the bedside, but Ulfric waited. When they were younger men, they could share several releases in the span of one night. Now, however, they could make their pleasure last an entire evening. The extended lovemaking sessions were exquisite torture.

Ulfric knelt on the bed before Ralof, grabbed his backside, and scooted him forward. He then turned around and hovered over Ralof so that their mouths met with each other's manhood. Ralof loved this position. The couple moved together, moaned together for a long time until Ulfric felt his climax pending. The King moved forward and remained on his knees, then looked over his shoulder at his husband, pleading with Ralof to enter him.

Ralof grabbed the small bottle of snowberry leaf oil and applied a small amount, allowing him to slide into his husband easily. Ulfric growled loudly. While thrusting slowly behind Ulfric, Ralof reached down and grasped Ulfric's manhood. The oil dulled the sensitivity of the skin somewhat, and therefore allowed the couple more time to pleasure one another. The men moaned loudly, no longer forced to remain quiet. Ralof's thrusts increased in speed, and finally, he found release.

Ulfric turned around, grasped Ralof's face and kissed him fiercely. He then gently pushed Ralof back onto the mattress, applied oil, and entered. Ulfric leaned forward and, while he slid in and out, kissed his husband. Despite the oil, Ulfric climaxed quickly, his lips never leaving Ralof's.

The two men collapsed onto the bed and held one another, utterly content, and fell asleep in one another's arms.

* * *

Nehenarah couldn't sleep. She stared at the stone ceiling for hours. She was aggravated, mentally exhausted, annoyed with everyone at High Hrothgar, and couldn't take her mind off of Linnras. The man annoyed her to no end. Everyone around her annoyed her. An entire month of constant lessons grew old very, very quickly, and her frustration was seemingly never-ending.

She turned on her side and thought of Brynjarr. She wondered how he was reacting to the wedding that must have happened by now, if he had calmed down and accepted the means of his father's happiness. Nehenarah felt a sudden ache within her core, the same ache she had felt since the night before her sixteenth birthday. She placed her hand between her legs and remembered how it felt to be touched by Brynjarr.

A noise from the neighboring room returned her thoughts to the present. She wasn't sure what she heard, but she knew it came from Linnras's bedroom which was adjacent to hers. She stilled her body, quieted her breath, and listened. Again, the sound. "What is that?" she whispered to herself. She pressed the side of her head to the wall, willing her ear to hear through the stone. The sounds were louder, though no more clear. She thought Linnras was speaking to someone, but the words were made incomprehensible by the wall. She remained there, determined to cure her insomnia-induced boredom by eavesdropping on her guardian. And then the sound came louder, more clear. At once Nehenarah knew. She recognized the sound. It was similar to what Brynjarr sounded like when he and Nehenarah were intimate.

She sat back in her bed.  _Linnras has a woman!,_ she thought, wondering who at High Hrothgar he would want to have sex with. She pressed her ear again to the stone and listened.  _Yes_ , she confirmed silently,  _Linnras totally has..._  She strained to hear everything, but realized there was no other voice in the room. She felt her face flush when she realized Linnras was alone. She peeled herself away from the wall and lay back down in bed. Something about the fact that Linnras was making those noises alone unnerved her. With a woman, Nehenarah could understand, but by himself, she felt odd, but didn't know why. The aching in her body grew stronger. She turned to her side, her other side, trying to get comfortable, and trying to ignore the strange need she was feeling. She heard the noises again, and this time they sent tingles up her body. She whined, unsure what to do with herself, and punched her pillow several times. Her fingers dug into the down-filled cushion, wanting desperately the rip it apart – anything to try and quell this tension she was feeling. She heard Linnras moan again, and finally had had enough. She stomped out of bed opened her door and knocked harshly on the door to Linnras's bedroom. She kept knocking, refusing to stop until he opened it.

Finally, the door opened. Linnras was naked but for a bedsheet wrapped several times around his waist. Nehenarah thought his eyes looked like they were glowing, and that he looked both angry and frightened. "What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

"I...," she had come prepared to yell at him to keep it down, but for whatever reason couldn't bring herself to say the words. She walked into Linnras's bedroom and shut the door behind her. "I can't sleep," she said, attempting to hide her anger.

"So you wake  _me_  up? Go back to bed, Nehenarah." Linnras walked back over to his bed and sat down, holding the sheets tightly around his body.

"It didn't sound like you were  _asleep_ ," she said sternly.

Linnras looked up at the girl, clearly embarrassed, and said nothing.

Slowly, Nehenarah walked forward, looking Linnras in the eyes. When she drew nearer to the bed and uncomfortably close to Linnras, he leaned backward. "Nehenarah, what are you doing?" he asked.

" _Shh_ ," she said softly. She climbed onto Linnras's lap and wrapped her arms around his bare chest, then planted her lips onto his.

Linnras made a muffled noise, then pushed her away. "No, Nehenarah."

"I need you," she whispered hungrily and pressed her body against his. Nehenarah was wearing a thin linen night gown and nothing else. Linnras had seen the contours of her nubile body, and unavoidably felt the pressure of her small breasts against his chest.

"We can't," he whispered back. He moaned instinctively when Nehenarah grasped his obvious arousal from underneath the skirted bedsheets.

"What were you thinking about, before I interrupted you?" Her mouth found an earlobe and nibbled lightly.

"Nothing," he said in a rough voice.

Nehenarah laughed. She pushed Linnras's chest and forced him to lay back, then crawled up to kiss him, firm and full of desire, on the lips. Linnras did not push her away that time, but also did not touch her. His hands remained out at either side of him, paralyzed, wanting this to continue but knowing it should not.

Through the bedsheets Nehenarah felt Linnras's desire. She tugged at the fabric around the man's waist, finally pulling it loose, and freed his body from the fabric restraints. Without even looking at her unburied treasure, she lifted her linen gown and pressed herself against Linnras's stiff heat. She moaned in the anticipation of what she hoped it would feel like to finally have a man inside of her. She reached down and angled the hot shaft just right, felt her own wetness, then slowly lowered herself. The pair gasped in unison. The sensation was new to Nehenarah, and felt vastly different from Brynjarr's fingers and tongue. She lowered herself further and cried out, partly in pain but mostly in pleasure. Slowly, she impaled herself fully, finally allowing her thighs to rest against those of the man below her.

Linnras still didn't touch Nehenarah. Instead of her flesh, he gripped the bed. He moaned as she began to rock back and forth, up and down, slowly, and cringed at the overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation. Before Nehenarah had intruded, he had been close to his own, solitary release, and now he fought back his own climax. He felt Nehenarah's hands caress his torso, flick over the sporadic scars that littered his skin, tickle his sides, massage his chest. She was exploring him, and he had his eyes squeezed shut. He didn't notice when Nehenarah lifted her gown off of her body.

Linnras's pleasure was mounting, his breath increasing. He grunted, straining against fate to not allow himself release just yet. Unable to control his hands any longer, he wrapped them around Nehenarah's waist and rolled their bodies, landing Nehenarah on her back. He lifted her legs around his waist and thrust into her fiercely, letting himself gaze upon her naked flesh. Nehenarah was taking all of his considerable size, and her moans mirrored his own. He dared reach out to a breast, cupping it in his hand, squeezing the nipple and feeling the flesh bounce as he thrust against her body. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, and was thankful when Nehenarah began to moan louder and more frequently.

Nehenarah held Linnras's hand to her breast and clung to his arm with her other hand. Linnras watched the young woman as she began her release. Her back arched, her hand that held his over her breast squeezed tightly, and her fingers dug into the flesh of his arm. With his free hand, Linnras covered Nehenarah's mouth, muffling her cries of pleasure. Feeling her hot breath on his palm sent him over the edge, and his release was no longer able to be held back. He grunted and leaned forward to kiss Nehenarah, letting her mouth muffle his own moans.

Spent, the pair lay together, breathing heavily. The aching that had plagued Nehenarah for over a month was gone.

Linnras knew he should have never allowed this to happen, but when he looked down and saw a small amount of blood, he really regretted his actions. Nehenarah had been a virgin. "What have I done?" he whispered to himself.

"Hmm?" Nehenarah asked.

Without thinking, Linnras held his hand over Nehenarah's head and said, " _Laag."_ Nehenarah immediately fell asleep.


	12. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nehenarah and Brynjarr cure their loneliness.
> 
> [Chapter Soundtrack: AWOLNATION "Sail", Damien Rice "Delicate", Imagine Dragons "My Fault" and "Demons"]

Somewhere in The Pale, Brynjarr wrapped a thick fur cloak around his body. The air was biting cold and the wind relentless, and he feared the chill would eat away his nose and ears. He ducked into his tent and curled into himself, willing his body to stop shivering. He cursed Farkas's and Vilkas's decision to bring the recruits here. " _Return to Jorrvaskr in one piece and we might actually respect you",_  the twin Companions had teased.

Brynjarr was cuddled in his blankets and did not look to see who else entered the multi-person tent. He heard two female voices talking excitedly, their chattering teeth giving their voices a staccato effect.

"Hey, look," one of them said, "it's Brynjarr."

He heard the two young women giggle.  _I'll never_ _live_ _it down,_ he thought of the morning he ran down the halls of Jorrvaskr half-naked. He turned to the women and recognized Thyri and Yri, twins from The Reach that had joined the Companions shortly after he did. They were eighteen-year-old, identical, white-blonde and grey-eyed beauties. Brynjarr always forgot which one wore her hair in side-braids and which wore a single long braid. He grunted something of a greeting and turned away again, still trying to thaw his frozen body after a long march around the countryside.

"What's wrong with him, Yri?" Thyri asked.

"I think he misses her," Yri whispered, referencing Nehenarah.

"Aww, poor pup," Thyri said. She knelt behind Brynjarr. "Is Yri right? Do you miss the Harbinger's daughter?"

Thyri giggled.

Brynjarr shut his eyes and ears. He just wanted peace and quiet and warmth, not the teasing of older, beautiful shield-maidens. Unfortunately, Thyri and Yri had something different in mind. Yri tied closed the tent flaps and joined Brynjarr under the heavy blankets. Thyri followed, but slid in on the other side of the young man. Brynjarr sat up and looked at one of the women. "What are you doing?" he grumbled.

Thyri frowned. "We're cold." She placed her palm against Brynjarr's leather armor. "You're cold."

Yri wrapped her arms around Brynjarr from behind. "We're all so very... very cold." She ran her fingers down the side of Brynjarr's head and neck, then followed the contour of his armor down his sides.

When Brynjarr felt someone grab the bulge between his legs, he grunted. "We really shouldn't," he said weakly. "Vilkas's orders."

The girls giggled again. "His tent is at the other side of the camp," Thyri whispered. "Besides,  _Farkas_  has been fooling around with half the women recruits since we left Jorrvaskr, and Vilkas isn't stopping him." She pressed her lips to Brynjarr's neck and was gifted with a light moan. She then whispered in his ear, "I think we'll be alright." Thyri grinned and reached down toward the clasps that held on Brynjarr's armor.

Yri lifted the fur cloak off of Brynjarr and swiftly removed her own armor. Thyri quickly had Brynjarr's chest piece loose and off, and yanked the soiled linen undershirt up and off. She immediately leaned forward and kissed Brynjarr's chiseled chest. Yri wrapped her arms around Brynjarr and pressed her now naked body against his back. Her fingers found Brynjarr's nipples and gave them a hard pinch, causing the young man to moan loudly.

"Ooh, he likes that," Yri said gleefully.

"What else do you like, Brynjarr?" Thyri asked in a sultry voice. Her hand slid down the front of his leather trousers, feeling his bulge grow beneath her touch.

Yri sucked at the flesh of Brynjarr's neck, leaving red circles where her mouth had been.

Thyri had enough of teasing the young man, and shoved him onto his back. She sat on his torso. "Yri, be so kind as to relieve Brynjarr of the rest of his armor, please."

Brynjarr gripped Thyri's thighs. Both women were slim and toned, like him. He would be lying if he said he didn't desire the two women. They were Nord goddesses, and they were practically ripping off his clothing. In his heart, he'd wished the women were Nehenarah, but Nehenarah was far away, training to save the world. He felt cold air on his lower half and knew that he was now fully exposed.

"Oh my," Yri said.

Thyri turned around to get a glimpse of Brynjarr's naked lower half, then turned back to face the young man. "Well, well. The rumors were true." She grinned and reached behind her to grasp Brynjarr's hardening shaft. Brynjarr's fingers dug into the woman's thighs as he moaned from the pleasure of Thyri's touch.

Brynjarr had a sudden urge to taste the woman who sat on his torso. Gripping tighter Thyri's thighs, he lifted her up toward his head, and lowered her onto his mouth. Thyri gasped at the sudden heat against her chilled body.

While Thyri was distracted, Yri took advantage of Brynjarr's neglected manhood and began to tease it with her tongue, and soon took him into her mouth. Brynjarr's moans were muffled by Thyri's thighs. Thyri writhed against Brynjarr's mouth and pinched her nipples, and then pinched Brynjarr's. His moans vibrated against Thyri, which made her pinch harder. Brynjarr's hands held Thyri tightly against him, refusing to let her go. Soon enough his tongue caused her to shake in waves of pleasure. She then crawled backwards and kissed Brynjarr's mouth, tasting herself on his tongue. Thyri then peered backward, saw that Brynjarr was ready for her, and lowered herself onto him. She moved slowly, not wanting to send the young man over the edge just yet. She didn't know this was Brynjarr's first time entering a woman, and she was disappointed when he shuddered in release within moments.

" _Tsk tsk,_ " Yri said. "Bad pup. You released too early..."

Brynjarr caught his breath. "I... I um..."

"Yri," Thyri said, "I do believe that was Brynjarr's first time." She smiled at her sister.

"Brynjarr, was that your first time? Did Thyri turn you into a man?" Yri grinned.

The young man grunted. "Yes," he admitted.

Yri crawled up to the side of Brynjarr. "I guess we'll just have to keep going until you can last longer than ten heartbeats," she teased. She untied the leather thongs that kept her two braids together, and Thyri did the same with her one braid. Yri then grabbed one of Brynjarr's wrists and wrapped a leather thong around it. She then reached for his other wrist and did the same.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Yri only smiled. She pushed her hands under Brynjarr's back and urged him to sit up. She grabbed his wrists, brought them together behind his back, and tied the pieces of leather together with a third. She then leaned forward and whispered in Brynjarr's ear. "On your knees, soldier."

Brynjarr gulped. He was intrigued, but also worried for what the two women were going to do to him. He turned himself over so that he knelt before Yri. Thyri sat behind him. Yri then lay down before Brynjarr with her head below him. She reached up and grabbed his backside, urging him down to her. When he did so, she took him into her mouth. While Thyri pushed him down toward Yri's legs, he moaned. His face lowered between Yri's legs and there he stayed, helpless without the use of his arms and against the strong hold of Yri's arms around his lower half.

The hard smack that came down on Brynjarr's backside was not expected. He tightened his stomach muscles and attempted to lift himself to ask what Thyri was doing, but Thyri pushed him back down. Her fingernails ran lightly up and down the curve of the young man's taught muscles, then both hands came clapping down on the clenching flesh. Thyri heard Brynjarr and her sister both moan. With one hand she reached down and teased Brynjarr's dangling bulge, and with her other, continued her erratic pattern of fingernail caresses and assaults on Brynjarr's flesh. Thyri was pleased that Brynjarr lasted longer this time, but decided he had had enough until he gave Yri her own release. Thyri yanked on Brynjarr's restrained hands and pulled up him and away from Yri. "Finish her," she commanded Brynjarr. He stared at Thyri, wide-eyed and eager. He did as she commanded. Yri spun around. When he lowered himself between Yri's legs, Thyri continued her arrhythmic palming of Brynjarr's backside and thighs. She didn't stop until Yri moaned in her climaxing pleasure.

"Good pup," Thyri said. She yanked Brynjarr to his knees again. "Stay," she whispered in his ear.

Yri stood on her hands and knees and grinned back at Brynjarr. He wanted nothing more than to touch the flesh of the woman before him, but he had to wait until Yri backed herself onto him. The slow movements were torture. Thyri held Brynjarr from behind and raked her fingernails against his chest as he began to thrust. Not much time passed before he released again, bringing on whines from a frustrated Yri.

Thyri pinched his nipples hard. "Not good enough, pup. You're going to need lots of practice. What do you say, Yri?"

Yri knelt before Brynjarr as she touched herself between her legs. "I think we don't have much else to do tonight." She grinned evilly before pressing her mouth on Brynjarr's.

* * *

Princess Bera and Dezserahhe were running amok in Dragonsreach again, much to the dismay of Jarl Gudvar. The two girls were inseparable, and Dezserahhe slept at Dragonsreach more often than at Jorrvaskr. The Princess's shouts of "I  _never_  want to go back to Windhelm!" worried the Jarl, but he said nothing. He had more important things to worry about, such as the citizens of Riverwood who were evacuated and brought into his town. Some were staying in Dragonsreach itself, some in the inns and others in the spare beds of Whiterun's citizens, and Fjornir set aside Breezehome for Gerdur and Hod, and Frodnar and his new wife and infant.

Seeing the Princess and Fjornir's daughter run around like children half their age lightened the Jarl's mood, however. He feared any day that the Thalmor would attack, but the children's laughter somehow made the constant worry a little less taxing.

* * *

Nehenarah woke up with a throbbing headache. She groaned, turned to her side and felt for Linnras, but found no one there. She slowly opened her eyes, looked around, and realized she was in her own room. She had no idea how she got there. She slinked out of bed, threw on a thick fur robe, and teetered to Linnras's room. He didn't answer when she knocked, so she slowly made her way to the dining area. The light was way too bright for her eyes, and she winced in pain as she made her way to the table.

"There you are," Stjarna, one of the Tongues addressed Nehenarah.

"Here I am," Nehenarah muttered. She plopped herself down next to Aran, another Tongue. She didn't intentionally sit directly across from Linnras, but that was the only spot left on the bench. She looked across the table at her trainer and guardian who was stuffing his face with some sort of stew. She hated the stew at High Hrothgar. Too much salt was added to preserve it. She glared at Linnras, who paid her absolutely no attention. Someone shoved a bowl of stew under Nehenarah's nose.

Linnras finally looked up at Nehenarah. When he finished chewing, he pointed his spoon at his charge. "Eat," he ordered, and continued to do so himself.

Nehenarah moved the chunks of meat and vegetables around in the thick broth. She stopped suddenly, then looked over at Linnras. "Are you trying to fatten me up?" she asked loud enough for all to hear.

Her guardian froze with his spoon in his mouth. The room fell silent. In Skyrim, it was a bit of a joke that when a man wanted to marry a woman and have her bear his children, he would try and "fatten her up". This tended to happen naturally if the woman stopped working at whatever job she had in order to stay at home. The expression also had the double meaning of a woman's weight-gain while pregnant. Linnras had lived in Skyrim long enough to know this colloquialism, and was horrified at Nehenarah's accusation.

Stjarna laughed. "I don't think so, Nehenarah. Linnras told us he had talked to you about eating more over a month ago. And eat more, you have. Tell me, have you gained much weight over the last month?"

Linnras finally released his baited breath and continued eating.

Nehenarah scowled. "No."

"No, you haven't." Stjarna pointed her spoon at Nehenarah. "Which, frankly, is a shame. Thank goodness you're not expected to lift a sword!"

Aran laughed.

Nehenarah glowered at the two Tongues. Her hands began to sparkle in preparation to shoot bolts of lightning. Linnras saw the intent in her eyes.

"Nehenarah!" he shouted, standing immediately. "Put that away!" She reluctantly obeyed, and the sparks faded from her hands. Linnras sat back down, but he wasn't done shouting. "What on all of Nirn has gotten into you? Attacking those who help you!? I _never_  want to see that again!"

Nehenarah was mystified, terrified and abjectified by Linnras's tirade. She wondered why he showed no signs of what happened between them the night before. He had just yelled at her as if he were her father, not someone who had had sex with her and then carried her in her sleep out of his own bedroom and into hers. Linnras wasn't even looking at her anymore. His demeanor made her wonder if she had dreamed the entire evening they shared. After staring her down, satisfied he'd made his point, Linnras returned to his enormous bowl of stew.

 _Fucking men_ , she thought, then bolted to her feet and stormed out of the dining hall.

Linnras finished his stew and excused himself from the table. He looked for Nehenarah all over High Hrothgar, but couldn't find her. Worried, he cast a locater spell, and it led him to a store room. He opened the door and saw Nehenarah huddled in a corner on top of huge barrels. He entered and shut the door behind him. "Everything alright?" he asked softly.

Nehenarah didn't look at the man. "You yelled at me."

"You were about to raise your hands against your trainers!" he whispered harshly. "Of _course_  I yelled! I have no idea what you were thinking."

"I haven't been thinking much since last night," she muttered.

Linnras's body stiffened. He wasn't prepared to discuss what happened between them last night. "You've... been frustrated lately. We've all noticed. It's been an intense month."

"Intense...," Nehenarah sighed.

Linnras walked closer to her. "You miss him." He was referring to Brynjarr.

Nehenarah finally looked at Linnras. She did miss Brynjarr. Last night, Brynjarr's touch and company was all she wanted, but Brynjarr was not there. She realized then that she had used Linnras to fill the aching void she had felt over the last month. She wondered if Linnras had used her, too.

"Are you married?" she asked her guardian.

"No," he replied.

"No one waiting for you? Back in... wherever you're from?"

"No," he said softly, talking several more steps toward Nehenarah.

Nehenarah looked away from Linnras and focused on her feet. "Brynjarr wouldn't... He didn't want to get me pregnant."

"Brynjarr's a smart young man."

"But I needed... I needed..."

"I know," Linnras said.

"What if I'm pregnant now?"

"You're not."

Nehenarah looked at her guardian. "How would you know?"

Linnras stood firm. "I just know."

"But how? With  _magic_?" Her tone was sarcastic, and when she stressed the word 'magic' she flourished her fingers, a gesture she had learned from her father.

Linnras frowned. "Something like that."

Nehenarah's brow furrowed. "You're always so vague."

"It's for the best," he said, barely loud enough for Nehenarah to hear.

She slid off the barrel and walked up to Linnras. "Why?" She advanced closer. "Are you so determined to protect me that you keep yourself a secret? What aren't you telling me? Why did you... Why did I wake up in my own bed this morning?"

Linnras swallowed hard. "You're getting distracted," is all he said.

" _What?_  Distracted... I just needed... I needed...," her hands clenched and unclenched, "I needed you. I can't explain why. I just needed you."

"As I said, distracted."

Nehenarah stood within breath's reach of the man. "Maybe I need a distraction," she retorted.

"Nehenarah...," he reached down and gently grasped her hand, "soon you will be ready to fulfill all that Fate has planned for you. Your mind and heart must have that  _single_  focus. When the time comes for you to lead the armies against the Thalmor... my job here will be complete. You won't even need me as a guardian any longer. You will have Brynjarr. You can't get attached to me."

"But...," she squeezed Linnras's hand tight, "you mean you'll just leave? What about the war? I thought all the Tongues would were supposed to fight with us?"

Linnras closed his eyes and swallowed. He wanted to tell her the truth, but knew that this was not the right time. He opened his yellow-gold eyes and peered at Nehenarah. "Don't worry about me or the Tongues. Let us worry about you, now, and prepare you as quickly as possible. I believe the Greybeards intend to send you on a journey soon, one that you will need to be ready for.  _Focused_  for."

"But I  _am_  focused, now! Before last night I... I wasn't at all! You said yourself that everyone had noticed. My mind was all over the place!" She pressed her body close to Linnras's and clung to his armor. "You focused me." Her lips pressed against the man's before he could stop her.

Linnras backed away. "You shouldn't do that, Nehenarah."

"Why not?" she said softly.

"Because it's not you."

"What's not me? I think I'm being very me... And  _me_  wants you. Needs you..." She tugged at his leather armor and kissed him again.

Again, Linnras pushed her away. "Nehenarah..."

"What!?" she nearly shouted.

"What you're feeling for me isn't... It isn't you. It's me. It's my fault, I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about? I know what I want."

Linnras shook his head. "You're drawn to me. It's... You can't help it."

Nehenarah cocked her head to the side, raised an eyebrow, then burst out laughing. "By the Nine, you're a bit up yourself, aren't you?"

"I'm being serious, Nehenarah. What happened... it shouldn't have happened, but I'm not surprised it did. Neither of us could resist."

"Linnras," Nehenarah shook her head and walked up to the man, "what in Tamriel are you talking about? It was just sex." She raised her hand to his chest and felt the smooth armor. "That's all it will be." She looked into his eyes. "You focus me. Not on  _you_ , but, after we... After, I'm focused. Except..." She squinted at him. "You used magic on me to fall asleep last night, didn't you? That's why I felt like I drank a barrel of mead this morning..."

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

Nehenarah leaned forward. Her lips grazed his. "Don't do that next time." She kissed Linnras once again, harder, more fervently, and Linnras gave in to her embrace. He knew he shouldn't, but he was right. Neither of them could help themselves. They were drawn to one another like moths to a flame.

Linnras wrapped his arms around Nehenarah's waist and lifted her back towards the barrels, then sat her down on one. Nehenarah vaguely recalled being in a similar position with that boy in Windhelm whose name she forgot. She thought of Brynjarr, what it would be like to feel him pressed against her, kissing her, filling her. But in this moment she wanted Linnras, immediately. She flung off her robe, exposing her thin nightgown. She helped Linnras out of his armor from the waist down. He then lifted her up and hiked the nightgown above her hips.

Linnras pressed into Nehenarah slowly, letting her body adjust to his girth. Their mouths found one another's and their tongues danced. Her arms wrapped around Linnras's neck and her lower legs hooked around the man's thighs, effectively preventing him from easily pulling away. Linnras was moving into Nehenarah with quick, shallow thrusts. Their mouths muffled one another's moans. Soon his thrusts increased in depth. He lifted Nehenarah's petite form off of the barrel and used her weight to let her fall onto him as he thrust up to meet her.

Too soon the pair found their release, and as quickly as they became undressed they were clothed again. Linnras straighted his armor, smoothed back his auburn dreadlocks, and then looked at Nehenarah. "You better be extra-focused, now, Dragon Child." He walked toward the store room door. "Meet me in the courtyard in a little while. We have new Shouts to teach you."

Linnras then opened the door and slammed it behind him as he left.


	13. The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In preparation for war...
> 
> [Chapter Soundtrack: Stabbing Westward "Goodbye", Damien Jurado "Montesano", Jay Brannan "Sat It's Possible", The High Strung "Arrow", Amy Lee "Sally's Song"]

 

"Listener?" Aventus Aretino knocked on Voldsea Giryon's bedroom door in the Sanctuary. "Listener, I'm coming in." The Listener had been keeping herself in seclusion for over a week now, and the rest of the Dark Brotherhood was growing anxious. Aventus entered the Listener's chambers. "Listener, we're getting worried. Please, tell us what's wrong." He walked across the bedroom and sat in a chair, facing the Dunmer woman.

Voldsea squirmed in her bed. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she made no eye contact with Aventus. "I've been meditating," she said in a low, soft voice.

"Meditating? On what? Has there been a Sacrament performed? We've been waiting for new contracts for weeks."

Voldsea closed her eyes. "No Sacrament, not exactly. But a contract, yes."

"No Sacrament? But... I don't understand."

"The contract... came from Sithis Himself." Voldsea opened her red eyes and stared at Aventus. She handed the young man the notes she had written down after listening to the orders she had received.

Aventus finished reading the note and his eyes darted up to Voldsea's. "But this... this contract is for..."

"Yes," Voldsea nodded. "It's time the Brotherhood knew about it. I can't decide what to do on my own. It has to be a group decision."

"But how is this even possible?"

Voldsea let out a long, deep sigh. "I believe the Night Mother chose  _me_  for a reason. For  _this_  reason. She, and Sithis... they saw this coming."

Aventus furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, Listener, I don't understand."

Voldsea gave Aventus a gentle smile and clasped his shoulder. "Gather everyone in the mess hall. And then, read this book. Don't worry, it's short. Listener's orders." She smiled at her favorite Speaker and sent him on his way, a copy of the  _The Monomyth_  tucked under his arm.

* * *

Brynjarr sat on the boulder looking out over the land to the south, the only way up the hill to the small Companion camp. It was his turn to keep watch, and Yri decided to join him. She wrapped her arms around Brynjarr's torso and under his warm cloak.

"We head back to Jorrvaskr tomorrow," she said in a soft voice.

"Mm," Brynjarr grunted in affirmation.

"We'll be made full Companions, then."

"Yep," he nodded.

Yri leaned her head on his armored shoulder. "I hear they're going to make more room for more recruits. More beds. Maybe even more bigger beds, like Vilkas and Lydia have."

"Ah," he said.

Her hand grazed Brynjarr's torso. "We could share one, if you like." Her lips grazed her new lover's neck, sending a shiver up Brynjarr's spine.

Instead of responding how he had been over the last month to this kind of advance, Brynjarr stood from the boulder, freeing himself from Yri's embrace, and turned to her. He grasped her cheeks with his hands, leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Here in this camp, or on the move in the wilderness, he had given in to his physical needs and to Yri's warm body and soft kisses, all the while regretting every moment of it. Back in Jorrvaskr, in Whiterun, he would return to his previous self. Whiterun was his and Nehenarah's world. He looked Yri in the eyes, hoping the young woman wouldn't hate him forever, and said, "I'm sorry. I can't." He turned and walked back to camp to wake Rik to take over the watch.

* * *

"Linnras?" chimed Nehenarah.

"Hmm?" Linnras was busy fixing a strap on his armor.

Nehenarah bit her lip and looked cautiously around them. Others were milling about in the courtyard at High Hrothgar, but none within ear-shot. Still, she decided to speak to her guardian in  _Dovahzul_ , figuring that no one else around would be as fluent as Linnras, and she needed practice anyway. _"_ _Z_ _ul ahzaalaan tinvaak wah zey_ _,_ _"_ she whispered.

Linnras looked up at her. " _Fos zul?"_

"Akatosh," she whispered.

"Akatosh?"

Nehenarah nodded. " _Rah_ _tinvaakaan_ _wah zey dii_ _ulan laas."_

Linnras cocked his head to the side. " _Ahrk nid zuk?"_

Nehenarah shook her head. They were mostly alone now, so she switched her to natural language. This particular conversation was too difficult otherwise. "Not since I've been here. Before...," she whispered, "when I was younger, the voice was kind of... calming. Then it went away, until one night... it came back. The voice started to get angry. Angry whenever I was with others... you know..." She blushed. "Not when I'm with you, though. Never with you. Only others. With Brynjarr..."

"What did the voice say, exactly?" Linnras asked.

Nehenarah looked at her feet. "To stop. I know that now. I didn't then, but now I understand. Akatosh didn't... he didn't want me to...," she looked around, then said, barely audible, " _liin."_

" _Liin!?,"_ Linnras whispered back and chuckled. _"Voth wo?_ Brynjarr? _"_

"Brynjarr, and another boy..."

Linnras grinned.  _"_ _Sahrot miil."_

"'Mighty' what?"

"Nevermind." He smiled and finished fixing his armor. "So, Akatosh hasn't spoken to you since you've been here?"

Nehenarah shook her head, slowly. "Not since I met him when I first arrived. The day I turned sixteen..."

"Hmm."

"I don't understand. If I'm supposed to be his conduit or... whatever... why isn't he speaking to me anymore? Is it because I'm here now? Doing... this? Training?"

"I would guess yes. Is that all He said to you? To stop fooling around with-"

" _Shh_ _h_ _!_ _,_ " she watched Greybeards pass by. "No, he also...  _Rok foraan zey 'brit'. Ok_ _'_ _brit_ _kiim'."_

" _S_ _a_ _adgaar?_  Hmm." Linnras was smiling.

Nehenarah gave Linnras a look. "Why are you smiling?"

"Because it's true. You're His. Spiritually speaking, of course. My guess, is that He knows you're exactly where you should be, and that He's alright with everything else that's going on."

Nehenarah's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You're saying you think Akatosh  _wants_  me to... to...  _liin_... with you?" Her whispers gained harsh tone.

Linnras chuckled. "Well, if He's not yelling at you to stop..."

Nehenarah buried her face in her hands.

"Hey, you're the one that said it focuses you. And look at you now, barely three months up here and you're practically fluent in  _Dovahzul_  and Shouting up storms. Literally." He flung a dreadlock from his chest to his back and lowered his voice to the quietest of whispers. "If I recall correctly, I'm the one who kept saying we should stop."

Nehenarah's groan was muffled by her palms. " _Laanni helt."_

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you."

"I don't want to stop!" she shouted at Linnras in her own language. She instantly covered her mouth with her hands, mortified, certain that anyone remaining in the courtyard had heard her. She hoped they would think she was talking about her training. She calmed when she saw no one around, rubbed her forehead, then folded her hands in her lap. "I just... I miss him. Brynjarr." She felt like an invisible hand was wrenching at her stomach. "It should have been him, but...," she sighed, "he's off being a great warrior or whatever." She rolled the bead that Brynjarr had given her against her wrist.

Linnras smiled. "You will see him soon enough."

"I will? When?"

"Soon."

"But when?"

Linnras laughed. " _Das."_

Nehenarah grumbled. "Ass." She fiddled with the tufts of fur popping out the top of her boots. "I don't want to stop... I don't know if I  _can_ stop. But I don't want to get...  _kiiraal_ ," she whispered.

"You won't yet." He immediately knew he'd said too much. Way, way too much.

She looked up at her guardian. "What do you mean, 'yet'?"

Linnras forced a smile. There was no way to take back his words. "You will, when it's time. Just like your mother did, with you."

"How do you know?"

He leaned forward and grinned. " _Mindok pah!"_ His arms and hands flourished in a sweeping motion outward. He laughed, hoping that Nehenarah wouldn't believe his words as truth.

Nehenarah knew he wasn't omniscient, but wondered just how much he did know about her or her fate that he wasn't saying. "And whose child will it be, O He Who Knows All?"

Linnras sighed, then ticked his index finger from side to side and smirked. " _Rignivahiikke."_

* * *

Eirin thought she heard grunting coming from her and Fjornir's bedroom in Jorrvaskr. Confused, she sent her son Kenlaas to go play with his cousins outside. The bedroom door was closed. She listened, straining to hear exactly what was going on, hoping her first thought was wrong. In the grunts she heard desperation, and strain. Her stomach knotted, but she pushed on the door to enter. It was locked. Her throat felt like it was closing up when she swallowed. She knocked. "Fjornir? Is everything alright?" She waited, listening to the scrambling about going on in her bedroom. "Fjornir?" she called again.

The door flung open and Eirin was faced by a disheveled Fjornir. His hair was a mess, he was sweaty, and wearing nothing but linen underclothes. "Fjornir, what's... what are you..." She didn't want to ask. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know.

Fjornir frowned. Eirin thought he looked completely distraught, even embarrassed. His face was flushed, either from exertion or shame. She felt her last meal threaten a reappearance.

Without warning Fjornir all but yanked Eirin inside their bedroom and slammed the door shut behind them. He stood with his hands on his waist, staring down at his feet.

"It doesn't fit," he muttered.

Eirin had absolutely no idea what her husband was talking about, but was certainly relieved to find no one else in the room. "What doesn't fit?"

Fjornir wiped a hand down his beard, then pointed across the room. "That."

Eirin's eyes followed to where he was pointing and saw a haphazard pile of steel armor. She stifled a laugh. "Oh, gods,  _Bear,_  I thought...," she shook her head. "When is the last time you wore that?"

"Five years ago, I think. When I went up north to Solstheim."

"Hmph, well," she walked up to her husband and patted his belly, "you haven't been doing all that much adventuring since then. I'm not surprised. It's all those sweetrolls." She grinned.

Fjornir grimaced. "Maybe it shrank."

Eirin laughed. "Yes,  _Bear_ , the steel armor you've had for the last sixteen or so years just... shrank." She smiled, trying not to laugh further.

Fjornir growled. "I'll go see what Adrianne can make me. She's worked with dragonbone before, and I have that chest full of them in Breezehome." He walked over to his pile of day clothes that he tossed on the floor earlier and dressed himself. He looked up at his wife, who was still standing with her arms folded across her chest, a smirk crossing her face. "What?"

Eirin walked up to Fjornir and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I like you with more meat on your bones," she said in a husky voice.

"Yeah?" Fjornir grinned.

"Yeah." Eirin's lips grazed Fjornir's.

"Want to come with me to Breezehome?" Eirin thought she saw a twinkle in her husband's eyes.

"Are you going to show me your dragonbone?" she grinned.

Fjornir chuckled. "Yeah," he answered before kissing his wife.

* * *

"So, it's unanimous, then," Voldsea stood before her Dark Brothers and Sisters who all nodded. "Just remember, joining me on this contract will be completely voluntary. You know the risks. The Night Mother has not made any promises that it will be a success, but we have to try...  _I_  have to try, to honor Her, and honor Sithis."

"Hail Sithis!" Nazir stood.

"Hail Sithis!" the rest of the Listener's Brothers and Sisters stood.

Voldsea smiled. The Dark Brotherhood was rising from the depths to once more have a hand in guiding the course of history.

The increasing conflicts on Nirn had finally attracted the attention of Sithis, who had appeared to Voldsea one evening, alone in her room. He had his reasons, he explained to the Listener, to get involved in the mess mortals had made of the world. He instructed Voldsea on what she must do, and what her Brothers and Sisters must do. In her mind's eye, Sithis showed Voldsea how the Brotherhood's actions would not only influence the outcome of the oncoming war, but would bring back the glory to the Brotherhood that had faded so very many years ago.


	14. Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Vonok. Vonok, dii kiim. Kos mul. Mu grindiin einzuk fod kein geblaan."
> 
> [Chapter Soundtrack: Live "Dolphin's Cry", India Arie "Growth", Young the Giant "My Body", Peter Bradley Adams "The Longer I Run", Tyler Hilton "I Believe In You"]

Nehenarah sighed contently when she woke up in Linnras's arms for the first time. She wasn't worried about getting caught anymore by the Greybeards. She figured the worst they could do was tell her father, and the worst he could do was yell at her. They couldn't send Linnras away – he was too important for her training - and she knew her father wouldn't tell Brynjarr; he wasn't that kind of person.

" _Pruzah feyl,_ " Linnras whispered in her ear, following the buttery words with a kiss to the nape of her neck.

"It is," Nehenarah replied, smiling sleepily.

Linnras intertwined the fingers of his left hand with hers.

" _Drey hi laag eyvir?_ " he asked.

" _Geh. Hi?"_

" _Geh."_ Linnras began to nibble her earlobe.

"We should get to breakfast before they begin to worry and realize we're both missing."

"Let them worry," Linnras said in deep voice. His hand wrapped around a small breast.

Nehenarah turned behind her and kissed her guardian. She felt another part of Linnras rise, and then press against her backside. " _Dreh zey,_ " she whispered.

Linnras obeyed. He turned Nehenarah onto her back and kissed her again, then reached down to find her surprisingly ready to receive him.  _"_ _Unstiid nuk fah zey,_ " he whispered.

Nehenarah grinned knowingly. Linnras leaned into Nehenarah, and with her legs wrapped around him he entered her easily. He took his time with her this morning, teasing Nehenarah with slow, steady and long strokes. Nehenarah pulled Linnras down to kiss him. Her arms wrapped securely around his neck and shoulders, silently forbidding him to leave their embrace.

Linnras felt Nehenarah moan against his lips. He picked up the pace, thrusting harder with his full length, holding back his desire to let go of his ardent need to take her roughly. When Nehenarah's nails dug into his upper back, he increased the speed of his thrusts yet again, grunting each time he hilted himself into the young woman. Against his lips Nehenarah let out a faint squeal, and Linnras abandoned his restraint.

Nehenarah encouraged his deep, eager thrusts with her strong lower legs. When Linnras began to move as fast as he could, Nehenarah relaxed her muscles, opening herself fully to the man above her. Linnras tugged at Nehenarah's hands to release their grip, then leaned back, grasped Nehenarah's ankles, and moved them to rest on his shoulders. With her legs up, Linnras reached deeper inside Nehenarah, causing her to moan louder; she quickly reached for his pillow to muffle the sounds. Still thrusting with furious abandon, Linnras leaned forward once again, removed the pillow from Nehenarah's face, and used his palm to muffle her cries. His other hand fell between Nehenarah's legs, and his thumb rubbed against her swollen, sensitive node. The pair gazed into one another's eyes, watching as they each neared their release. As the intense climax washed over her, Nehenarah gently bit down on the flesh of one of Linnras's fingers and her eyes closed instinctively. Linnras continued his fervent thrusting long after Nehenarah's body relaxed, and his thumb continued to work her node. He was determined to give her multiple releases; he knew she would need to be relaxed later that day, and that they wouldn't have the opportunity for intimacy later.

Nehenarah's moans subsided and she began to suck Linnras's thumb. The sensation was surprisingly intense, forcing Linnras to remove his hand from her grasp and turn Nehenarah over onto her knees. He pushed into her from behind, found her node once again with his fingers, and began to pound into her. Nehenarah bit into her pillow as her unavoidable squeals of pleasure continued.

With her eyes closed and arms no longer around Linnras's body, images of Brynjarr taking her from behind crossed her mind's eye. She imagined them together, in some distant meadow, making love with the same intensity she was now experiencing with Linnras.

She knew she was using Linnras in Brynjarr's absence. She knew that he knew. Neither of them cared.

When her second and third release climaxed simultaneously from the double onslaught of pleasure, she imagined becoming pregnant with Brynjarr's child, years from now, with no wars or dragons or Divines invading their lives.

Linnras finally allowed himself to release. He gritted his teeth to keep from moaning Nehenarah's name, and his fingers dug into the flesh of her hips, stretching it taught as he buried himself repeatedly inside of her. As his climax subsided, he held her to him, massaging the flesh he had gripped so tightly. He leaned forward molding his body to hers, and kissed her shoulder.

Nehenarah relished in the feeling of his body pressed against hers; she even liked when his dreadlocks tickled her neck and shoulders. Linnras's hands found her breasts and massaged them gently. Still inside of Nehenarah, Linnras collapsed to the bed onto his side, pulling Nehenarah with him. She was still breathing heavily. He finally pushed himself away from her, then walked across the room to retrieve his clothing.

"I should head out to breakfast," he said, "and tell them you had one of your breakdowns again and I had to calm you."

"They're going to start to think I'm crazy," she muttered.

"Who said you weren't?" Linnras grinned.

Nehenarah chucked a pillow at him which he dodged easily. She then breathed a silent " _VEN"._  Linnras was dressing himself and didn't notice when a relatively strong gust of wind sent him stumbling for a few steps further away from Nehenarah. He looked up at her in surprise to find her red-faced and giggling.

Linnras threw the pillow back at her, landing it directly on Nehenarah's face, then finished dressing. "Take a bath, Nehenarah. You smell too much like me." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and left her bedroom.

Nehenarah wondered if he smelled too much like her.

* * *

Brynjarr stared at the letter he had written to his father. He had thought about King Ulfric's offer of adoption, and had considered it in earnest. He read his response over a dozen times to make sure it was truly how he felt. Once fully satisfied with his response, he folded the letter. His hands trembled as he reached for the wax stick and candle, causing the melting red to splatter like blood before being stamped. An image of Wuuthrad formed on the drying seal.

The courier would come around later in the month.

* * *

"Blessed Divines, would you look at that," Rik said full of awe as he and other newly-inducted Companions watched Fjornir spar against Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela on the training ground behind Jorrvaskr.

Despite being somewhat out of shape, Fjornir moved with swift, fluid, and brutal grace, practicing with his new dragonbone weapons, a warhammer and two one-handed swords. Dragonbone was heavy, but extremely dense and sharp, and unlike metal never dulled, making them ideal for repetitive use in battle. Though heavy, Fjornir had no trouble swinging the weapons with god-like speed, landing killing blows on practice dummies and against Farkas's and Aela's shields and Vilkas's broadsword. Fjornir spun, ducked, grunted and thrust his sword into the gut of a straw-filled man with fervor, losing himself in the thrill of mock-battle.

"Isn't he almost fifty?" Agata quietly asked the others watching.

"In mortal years," Rik replied, "but he's not completely mortal, is he?"

The onlookers grunted and nodded their assent.

Haming was standing in the back of the crowd, listening to their comments, and smiling.

Fjornir's new dragonbone armor allowed for perfect agility. Though just as heavy and dense as his dragonbone weapons, the armor was constructed of large overlapping segments, with each bone moving on its own. The armor was impenetrable, except for weapons made out of dragonbone, and spells. Though Farengar, the Court Wizard at Dragonsreach, had enchanted it with some resistance to magic, Fjornir doubted it could hold up against the more powerful Altmer spells. Even so, the armor would certainly keep him safe against melee and projectile weapons.

Eirin had stepped out on the back porch with Iilahaan and Kenlaas so they could watch their father in action. She overheard the comments of the other Companions and while she knew they were true, she also knew that Fjornir breathed and bled just like any mortal, and could die just as easily.

She couldn't shake the feeling that the battle with the Dominion would be Fjornir's last. Her stomach had been in knots for weeks.

When Vilkas was knocked flat on his back on the training ground, he had had enough, and he and the other Companions took a much needed break. Fjornir strode up to his wife and children, grinning, barely breaking a sweat. He kissed Eirin and Iilahaan, and then picked up Kenlaas and sat him on his shoulders. The boy's legs sat close to Fjornir's neck and were surrounded by the curved bones that formed the shoulder pauldrons.

Today was the boy's fifth birthday.

Fjornir proceeded to run around the training ground in erratic patterns, and Kenlaas held his arms outstretched like an eagle.

Eirin smiled when Kenlaas made " _whirr_ ing" sounds, and exclaimed, "Look, Ma, I'm riding a dragon!"

* * *

"I'm going to  _what?"_  asked Nehenarah.

"You heard me perfectly well, Nehenarah," Arngeir said to the young woman. "Dress warmly, with a layer underneath for warmer weather. You leave within the hour. Meet us in the courtyard when you're ready."

She walked with Linnras back to their adjacent rooms. "Can't you come with me? I have no idea what I will say to them."

"You will know, once you are there."

"But what if I don't? Yes, I know the history now and I understand why I'm going there, but...," she folded her arms across her chest and leaned against her bedroom door, "what if I end up standing there, slack-jawed and looking like an idiot. What if they _attack_  me!?"

Linnras smiled at Nehenarah. He looked up and down the hallway, and when satisfied they were alone, planted a kiss on her forehead. "You will be fine," he assured her.

"Says the man who won't come with me," she sassed.

"I can't go with you."

" _Why_  not? You could, you just don't want to."

"No, Nehenarah, I can't. This is something you need to do on your own."

"Not  _really_ on my own..."

"No, but without me, without the Tongues or the Greybeards or your father. Now go on, get dressed. And remember, something for warm weather underneath."

"Yeah, yeah." She entered her room and slammed the door shut in Linnras's face.

When Nehenarah walked into the courtyard, Linnras was absent. Only Arngeir, Stjarna, Aran, and three other, older Tongues were present. Behind them stood three dragons, one red and two green.

"Nehenarah," Arngeir stepped forward, "I believe you've already met Odahviing, Lokfahdon, and Buriishaan."

Indeed, she had. These were the dragons that escorted her and her parents from Whiterun to the Throat of the World. She gulped. " _Drem yol lok_ ," she spoke the common  _Dovah_  greeting at the three dragons.

" _Drem yol lok,"_ the three dragons repeated enthusiastically.

"Have you learned  _Dovahzul_ , then,  _Dovahkiir?"_  Odahviing asked.

" _Geh,_ _rinik eyvir."_

" _Lot!_ You have learned quickly, as had the  _Dovahkiin_." Odahviing shuffled his wings. " _Mu shur nu_ , Time does not wait." The ancient red dragon Shouted  _FEY BO ZOR,_ enveloping Nehenarah in a silver light. He lowered himself so that she could climb onto him, and immediately lifted himself off the ground. The two green dragons followed. " _Srinmiinni!_  We will arrive in mere moments!"

The three dragons soared westward, voicing their excitement with a chorus of ferocious roars.

Linnras lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He admitted to himself that he was sad, knowing that this morning was the last he would spend with Nehenarah, the last time he would hold her in his arms, smell her, make love to her. The entire experience had been fun – fulfilling, even – but he was no longer needed at High Hrothgar. Nehenarah was ready to venture the next stage of her destiny, and she would have to do so without Linnras by her side. He knew he should have given Nehenarah a proper farewell, but he also knew she would have protested with fervor, and would have left the others wondering why she cared so much about his departure.

He stood from the bed and began to remove his armor, smiling when he recalled the night Nehenarah ripped it off of him, breaking one of the buckles. He folded the leather neatly and placed it in the wardrobe along with his boots and underclothes. He briefly considered leaving a note for Nehenarah, but decided against it. She would understand, in time. Instead, he placed a necklace on his small table. The ornate bronze pendant was shaped abstractly to represent a dragon surrounding an hourglass; the band was covered in tiny bronze circlets and ornate, shaped bronze beads. On the back of the pendant was engraved a series of lines and dots: from the top down were two short diagonal lines and a tiny triangle, one tall and two short vertical lines, and a dot over two horizontal lines. Linnras knew the amulet was more of a symbolic gesture than an actual gift, even if the enchantment would aid in regenerating her natural abilities if, and when, the time came to use them in battle.

The bronze-skinned, golden-eyed warrior inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he ran his fingers over the amulet one last time. After an intense burst of light lit the bedroom like a tiny sun, Linnras Tyraevi was gone.

As Nehenarah watched the world rush passed beneath her, she thought that she heard a voice in her head, barely audible over the roaring of the dragons and forceful movement of the air around her ears.

" _Vonok. Vonok, dii kiim. Kos mul. Mu grindiin einzuk fod kein geblaan."_

Unlike any other time the voice in her head had spoken, she understood these words. When she realized what the words meant, she cried. Her tears were whipped away by the violent winds blasting upon her face.


	15. Worlds Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter Soundtrack: Hezekiah Jones "Cupcakes for the Army", Needers and Givers "Who Do I Wait For", Pull In Emergency "Hold Still", Van Risseghem "The River", Katie Herzig "Make A Noise"]

Nehenarah watched the landscape beneath her change from arctic tundra to a mostly dry, brown, mountainous wasteland, accented by the occasional small patch of green. The dragons were taking her to Hammerfell, a country to the southwest of Skyrim. Once there, Nehenarah was charged with recruiting the Redguard armies to join with Skyrim in the war against the Aldmeri Dominion.

As they approached what appeared to be a coastline, the dragons began to descend. Nehenarah gulped. She feared the Redguard's reaction to seeing dragons, to meeting her, to her request.

The dragons landed on a swath of land in front of a city, and then did nothing.

" _Shur koreid?_ " Nehenarah asked Odahviing if she was to go inside.

" _Ni gah, Dovahkiir. Il must koraav."_

"Let them see? See what?"

" _Faal Dovahkiir ahrk ek dovahhe,_ " the red dragon answered.

"You are not  _my_  dragons," Nehenarah muttered.

The three beasts snorted, and tiny puffs of smoke emerged from their nostrils. "To  _joorre_ , mortals, it must appear as such," Odahviing said.

"Alright, then. How long must we wait here?"

" _Erei nust ferid niist kinbok."_ They were to await the arrival of the people's leader.

"And how long will that take?"

" _Enesek, Dovahkiir,_  you should gain their attention," answered Odahviing.

Nehenarah considered what she should do. She thought of Linnras, and thought of what he would have wanted her to do. A single tear flowed down her left cheek when his voice, Ghost Man, failed to speak in her mind. She decided to try out the final Shout Linnras had taught her. She inhaled, closed her eyes, raised her head to the sky, and Shouted:  _"FAAIN… LOK… DREM'._

She opened her eyes to see a rainbow arching across the blue sky.

* * *

Brynjarr, Aela, and Agata were hunting north of Whiterun when a pack of bandits came at them relentlessly.

Unfortunately for the bandits, the three Companions had no trouble sending arrows into their flesh. Aela hit two of them directly in an eye.

"Since when do bandits just attack people for no reason? This isn't even bandit territory," said Brynjarr.

Aela and Agata rummaged through their assailant's belongings, stripping them of weapons, gold and other items they no longer needed.

"There's a note," Aela said, unfolding a piece of paper. She read the contents. Brynjarr could see the broken red wax seal on the outside. When Aela finished reading, she looked up at Brynjarr, eyes hardened in worry.

"What?" he asked.

Aela handed the note to Brynjarr. She stood and scanned the area to make sure no one else was coming.

"They were sent after me," Brynjarr said in a subdued voice.

"Who's Hungeirr?" Aela asked.

Brynjarr frowned. "He was a Prince, firstborn of High King Ulfric, Princess Bera's brother. Well, he's her half-brother. He was found to not be Ulfric's actual son and was disowned."

"Ohh, I heard about that," Agata said. "That was kind of cruel of Ulfric."

"Mm," Brynjarr agreed.

"Why in Tamriel would he be after you?" Aela asked.

Brynjarr sat back on his heels, staring at the note. "He's being proactive. I haven't even sent the letter yet."

Aela and Agata exchanged looks. "What in Oblivion are you talking about?" Agata asked.

Brynjarr looked at his two friends, stood, and gathered his arrows from the bandits' bodies. "Let's go get our gear and the elk. I'll tell you on the way back to Jorrvaskr. Just… don't tell anyone else, alright?"

"The Harbinger should know there are  _bandits_  after you, Brynjarr," Aela scolded.

"Not yet. Please, Aela. He has more important things to worry about. Just tell him we spotted some bandits in this area, if you're so insistent on telling him something." Brynjarr started southward. "So," he began, "you may have heard about my father, Ralof…."

* * *

"We have to tell Ulfric,  _Bear._  She's his daughter! He has a right to know," Eirin paced back and forth in their bedroom in Jorrvaskr. Her whispers were harsh, verging on hissing.

"I don't see what difference it makes. Ulfric married Ralof, in the end." Fjornir smiled, still amused by that turn of events. He shrugged. "Maybe it's just a phase. I mean, they're best friends, after all. Perhaps they're just… having fun." He chuckled.

Eirin grumbled and plopped down onto a chair. "You don't seem very upset that your twelve-year-old daughter was caught kissing someone."

Fjornir laughed at his wife. "If I remember correctly that was about the age you started kissing Ralof." He walked behind his wife and massaged her shoulders. "You're taking this surprisingly hard. I wouldn't have thought you'd care who people spent their time with."

"I don't care," she said.

"Could have fooled me."

"Dez can be with whomever she likes. But the Princess!..." Eirin whined again. "Ulfric won't like it. We promised to take care of his daughter."

"She's alive and well, is she not?"

"And in love with a common girl. I'm sure Ulfric had plans for her."

Fjornir stared down at Eirin. "Did you just call your child 'common'?"

Eirin squirmed in her chair. "That's not what I meant. She's not royalty. Not even a Jarl's daughter."

"Ulfric married Silda, the granddaughter of a Jarl, and look how well that turned out." Fjornir bent down and kissed Eirin's neck. "I think I know the real reason you're upset."

"Then tell me," she said.

"'Narah is sixteen, in love with Brynjarr, and off being a hero. Dez is twelve, and in love with Bera. Iilah' and Kenlaas will be soon to follow. Who knows where they'll end up, but I'm pretty sure Kenlaas wants to be a Companion." Fjornir stroked Eirin's long braid, and his beard brushed against her neck when he rested his chin on her shoulder. "You just don't want your babies to grow up."

Eirin frowned and grasped Fjornir's forearms. "And you do?"

"Hmph." Fjornir stood, walked in front of Eirin, took her hand in his, and urged her to stand. He wrapped his arms around her waist. "Yes, very much so," he said. "I want to see them grow," he kissed Eirin's forehead, "love," her nose, "have babies of their own," her lips.

"So do I,  _Bear._  I just…," she sighed. "I feel old."

Fjornir chuckled. "You're five years younger than I am."

Eirin sniffled. "I've stopped bleeding," she said softly.

Fjornir stood back and looked at her. "Well, you know what that means…."

Eirin looked up at her husband. "No more children," she sighed.

"Exactly," Fjornir kissed his wife. "I can lay with you all I want." He kissed her again. "Every day. Every hour, if we can." His hands cupped her cheeks and held her face to his. "Not once more will we have to worry about more mouths to feed, more wriggling babies screaming in the night." His arms dropped to her waist and clenched tightly. "Until, of course, we have grandchildren…." He grinned, and his eyes sparkled.

Eirin smiled. "You don't think me old, then?"

Fjornir held her body against his and kissed her forcefully. "Never," he whispered. Fjornir lifted Eirin into his arms and lowered her onto the bed. He crawled on top of her, lifting the skirt of her dress and kissing her leg from ankle to thigh. Eirin moaned when Fjornir's tongue teased the center of her pleasure. She writhed against his experienced touch. Fjornir lifted himself from Eirin, leaving her yearning for release.

"You're going to torture me, aren't you," she whined.

Fjornir slid his heavy tunic over his head and tossed it to the floor. Hints of grey had highlighted the sparse brown hair of his chest and torso, as it did his temples. He smiled, walked to the wardrobe, and pulled out lengths of soft fabric. He walked back over to the bed, stretching one of the strips for Eirin to see. He dangled the strip over her head. "Only if you promise to torture me, too." He grinned.

Eirin giggled, sat up and grabbed a fabric strip. She pushed her face close to Fjornir's, brushed his nose with hers, and said, "On the bed, Sir Fjornir the Dragonborn." She smacked Fjornir's right flank.

Fjornir hopped onto the bed, grinning with delight. "Be gentle, Lady Eirin the Healer."

Eirin pulled tight the fabric strip between her hands, making a muted clacking sound. "Not a chance." She grinned, and jumped on top of Fjornir.

* * *

Just before sunset, an emissary to the King of Hammerfell walked up to Nehenarah and the three dragons.

" _Undagaar_ ," Nehenarah muttered to the dragons. " _Zu'u bahlokus."_

The dragons responded with a snorting laugh.

"Redguard!" Nehenarah shouted at the man who stopped advancing quite far away. "Fear not these dragons! We bring no danger to your shores."

"What kind of Nord brings dragons to our land and does not desire to take it for themselves?" the emissary replied.

"Do the Thalmor not wish that very thing? Had they not tried to take your land almost forty years ago?" Nehenarah shouted back.

The emissary took three slow steps forward. "Why do you speak of the Thalmor?"

"Surely you have heard of their advancement upon Skyrim? They have taken one of the southern Holds, and continue to maintain a presence in the north. What makes you think you will be safe from their legions if Skyrim falls?"

The emissary advanced a bit more. "We have heard tales from travelers about Skyrim these last fifteen years. Dragons, dragonslayers, and prophecy." He stepped forward again. "But you seem a bit young to be the Dragonborn."

"That's because the Dragonborn is my father. I am his first-born, the Dragon Child, Nehenarah."

The emissary took a pause to consider Nehenarah's words. "Why are you here, Dragon Child?"

"I am here to humbly request the aid of the armies of Hammerfell in the war against the Aldmeri Dominion. Skyrim's armies are vast, but would be unstoppable if aided with the men and women of this land." Nehenarah finally let herself dismount off of Odahviing. She slid down the dragon's wing with ease and approached the emissary. "And, as you can see, we have dragons with us." She turned around to the three hulking beasts behind her, then back to the emissary. " _Many_  dragons. This war will not be lost." She stepped close enough to the emissary to feel his breath on her face. "This war  _cannot_  be lost, not with the Tall Papa watching over his Chosen One." Nehenarah grinned, and lit up her palms in her Healing light. The shimmering yellow swirled brightly around her hands and forearms without showing any signs of fading.

The emissary looked Nehenarah in her one green and one brown eye. Within her eyes he thought he saw the flicker of fire.

As the emissary stared, Nehenarah mouthed the words: " _ZUL MEY GUT"_ , and her  _thu'um_  was heard from miles away and from every direction. She lowered her arms and the light from her palms diminished.

The emissary stepped back from Nehenarah, still staring. "What are your terms?"

The Dragon Child laughed. "Terms? Fight with us against the Dominion and ensure a victory, the destruction of their legions once and for all. Keep your kingdom and your gods, and fear not for the lives of Redguards who call Skyrim home. Our kingdoms will be allied. Together we can reclaim and rebuild Cyrodiil, and drive out from every land all of those who want to destroy Nirn."

The emissary considered her words. "You want to unite Tamriel again."

"In name only! For the sake of safe passage between lands, the protection of all provinces from those who wish to take what is not theirs, and to allow for easier and faster trade."

The emissary crossed his arms over his chest. "And if we do not join in this war?"

Nehenarah smiled. "The offer still stands, if Skyrim succeeds on its own. As I said, we bring no danger to your shores, no threats. We bring only the promise of peace, and the blessings of gods."

"And… you speak for the dragons?"

"I speak for the dragons that follow the Way of the Voice, that want coexistence with mortals once more, yes."

"Coexistence failed before."

"The Tall Papa will see that it does not fail again."

"And you speak for Him too, do you?"

Nehenarah smiled.


	16. Hoping High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter Soundtrack: Amy Stroup "Redeeming Love", Andrew Belle "Make It Without You", Soap&Skin "Me And The Devil", A Fine Frenzy "They Can't If You Don't Let Them", Katie Herzig "Diamond Ring"]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AN: I made a continuity error in the previous chapter regarding Linnras's amulet. D'oh. All fixed, now.]

"Father?" Brynjarr walked into the war room in the Palace of the Kings to find his father Ralof sharing an intimate moment with High King Ulfric.

Ralof turned in surprise at his son's voice. "Brynjarr!" He beamed in delight.

Brynjarr quickly turned away, not wanting to see his fifty-year-old father kissing the sixty-year-old king.

Ralof laughed. "Come, give your old man a hug," he said before enclosing his son in a tight embrace. "Are other Companions here? How is Bera?" He stepped back to take in the sight of his son.

Ulfric stepped up behind Ralof, interested in the welfare of his daughter as well.

"Rik came with me, but he's waiting with the guards. Bera's fine, she's…," Brynjarr chuckled, "she's great. Very happy, very safe." He neglected to say more.

"Good to know. Thank you," said Ulfric.

"So, what brings you here?" Ralof asked.

Brynjarr scratched his head. "I think we should all sit down," he said before turning toward the main hall.

Ulfric and Ralof exchanged looks, but followed the young man toward the banquet table. Jorleif poured them all some water and wine.

Once seated, Brynjarr pulled out the letter he'd written to his father but never had the opportunity to send. He handed it to Ralof. "I was going to send this soon, when the courier came, but… circumstances changed. I needed you to know right away."

"Know what?" Ulfric asked.

Brynjarr looked at the King. "Hungeirr sent bandits after me." He pulled out the contract from his knapsack and handed it to Ulfric.

"He  _what!?_ " Ralof yelled.

"Hungeirr? But why?" asked the King.

"Take a wild guess," Brynjarr commented in a blatantly snarky voice.

Ulfric smirked, and read the contract.

Ralof read the letter intended for him. "But you never sent this. Hungeirr just acted out of impulse?"

"I suppose so," Brynjarr said, shrugging. "That's why I came right away. Who knows who else he intends to knock off." He glared at Ulfric. "I knew what you did would come back to haunt you. You made an enemy for no good reason. He probably thinks you had his mother killed; everyone I know does."

"Brynjarr…," Ralof interjected.

"Don't defend him to me," Brynjarr snapped at his father. "The bandits could have killed Aela and Agata, too. Luckily those two ladies could fend off a pack of rabid frost trolls without issue. They're fine." He squirmed in his seat. "I don't think the assaults will stop there." He turned to Ulfric. "This is your mess, you need to deal with it.  _Especially_  if I'm going to agree to be adopted by you. Deal with it, or  _I_ will."

Ralof hid his face in his hands. Ulfric's eyes were wide with surprise at the brashness of the young man.

Brynjarr sighed. "I'm sorry. I imagine you would be short-tempered too if you were almost assassinated and you have no idea if the woman you love is alive or not."

* * *

"It was easier than I expected," Nehenarah commented to the Tongues and Greybeards once back at High Hrothgar. "The Redguards are very much reverent of their own idea of Akatosh – the Tall Papa, as you told me…. Once they knew dragons were on our side, they found it hard to decline. They were however quite hesitant of the idea of a new empire."

"As was expected," Arngeir said quietly before coughing a few times.

"But as it was not a requirement, they were very much in favor of allying our armies. I suppose all the provinces of Tamriel can discuss politics, after…." Nehenarah sipped her mug of water.

"Sounds like you did very well, Nehenarah," Stjarna said.

"Odahviing was pleased, as was Paarthurnax when we saw him after." She sipped her water again, and stared at her dinner, disinterested. She stood. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to go to bed early. Please excuse me…."

Nehenarah walked briskly down the hallway toward the bedrooms. She entered her Linnras's room and closed the door behind her. She knew she would not find him there, but she hoped she was wrong. The only non-furniture item in the room, aside from candles, was an ornate amulet on the table. She reached out to it, and when she touched the pendant, the bronze glowed orange-yellow. She jumped back, but stepped forward again, and clutched the amulet in her hand. She turned the pendant over and saw the engravings written down the length of the back.

" _Vuun_ ," she uttered when she read the engravings. "Destiny." She raised the cold metal to her lips and kissed the stylized dragon pendant. Linnras had left this for her, a token.  _Affection? Appreciation?,_  Nehenarah wondered. She lifted the band over her head and draped the amulet around her neck. The pendant hung low, between her breasts.

She then walked over to the small wardrobe and found only the few pieces of clothing Linnras wore during his time at High Hrothgar. She took the leather armor from the shelf and held it against her body, then collapsed into the bed.

The amulet grew warmer the longer she wore it.

Ghost Man. Akatosh. Linnras.

She wondered if they were all one and the same, or if Linnras was just a messenger. She thought about all of the things about himself that Linnras had told her.

Slow to age. From a land called Akavir – she made a mental note to ask someone about this land – where people spoke  _Dovahzul_. That she was drawn to him and him to her.

A mage. A Tongue. Bronze skin, bright auburn hair, gold eyes.

He knew about her future, her fate. He knew she would someday have children, but refused to say who would be the father. She sat up quickly when she realized he had lied to her. "If he didn't know when I'd be called up to the Greybeards, how does he know I'll become pregnant?" she asked herself, recalling her first conversation with Linnras up at High Hrothgar.

Nothing about him made any sense, and the unanswered mysteries nagged at her mind. She thought that if Linnras really were a god – if he had been Akatosh in the flesh – he would have known everything that was or ever will be. Or, perhaps, she thought, the future may be uncertain. She wondered if he had lied about certain things to protect his identity, or if he wasn't really Akatosh. She waited for the voice to enter her mind to console her, but it never did.

She lay in bed, clinging to Linnras's armor, wishing she could confront him.

* * *

Voldsea and five of her Dark Brothers and Sisters, all of them Mer, tried on the custom-fit Elven armor that was re-forged for them. The armor had been retrieved from a small company of Thalmor warriors that had been ambushed west of Dawnstar. Their prisoner, some Nord, was released and allowed to flee to safety.

"I don't understand why we're doing this if there isn't any gold involved," said a young Bosmer named Leman.

Voldsea stared at Leman. "Because the order came from Sithis Himself. You would deny Him what He asks?"

Leman frowned. "No, I was just saying…. What's in it for us?"

"Glory," answered Tegana, another Bosmer. "For the Brotherhood, not you." She smiled.

"I bet Kyrimon will get a whole lot of personal glory from this," Leman muttered.

"Who my parents are have nothing to do with who I am," Kyrimon, an Altmer, protested. "What I do, I do for the Brotherhood, and have done so for much longer than you."

Tegana snorted in amusement. "You two are adorable." She walked up to the both of them, laid her hands at the backs of their heads, and urged them together. "Now kissss," she hissed.

The two Mer men swatted her away, causing her to laugh heartily. "For the last time, Tegana, Leman and I are  _not_  lovers. You've met my wife," Kyrimon said.

"Yes, yes, lovely Elyza. She must be very special to seduce an Altmer into joining the Brotherhood." Tegana laughed. "Why a Breton and an Altmer wanted to join is beyond my understanding."

"Enough, Tegana," Voldsea scolded.

"What?" Tegana whined. "Magic isn't exactly something we use a lot of."

"Illusion magic has its benefits," Kyrimon said, "and Invisibility is only truly useful if one can move silently, and Sithis allows me to do so."

"Blah, blah…." Tegana tucked her hair under her Elven helm. She preferred her bow and arrows, and to kill from a distance.

"Alright, everyone, enough bickering." Voldsea finished settling into her armor and inspected her companions. "Is everyone clear about whom their marks are?"

The five Mer nodded.

"Good," Voldsea picked up her Elven sword and hitched it to her back-scabbard. "The portal will only last several moments. Once you see it, enter, or you will be left behind. Same goes for returning. We will rendezvous in the same location when the job is done." She paused, and then added, "You know what to do if you get caught."

Voldsea turned toward the massive portal against the wall of the Brotherhood Sanctuary, spoke several words under her breath, and watched as the stained glass shimmered. The portal was opened. The six Dark Brothers stepped through.

The weather was icy and the wind-powered stinging snow blasted against the small bits of the group's exposed flesh. They felt their armor begin to turn ice cold.

"Slowly now, into the town," Voldsea commanded. "Tegana, you know what to do."

"Yes, Listener," the Bosmer archer grinned. She ran off on her own, deftly disappearing into the shadows of the snow-veiled night.

Voldsea began her march forward and the four others followed close behind. Their Elven boots made little noise as they crunched into the snow; the enchanted armor was lighter than leather, but as tough as steel.

Voldsea spoke ancient words under her breath. Her companions did not know what she said, but knew it was an invocation of the True God when they felt His presence surround them and fill them with a fiery venom. When Voldsea finished her invocation, she whispered, "Hail Sithis."

The others repeated her praising words.

They marched in formation up to the oncoming guard, who was huddled against himself, a cloak covering his body and face; he did not see or hear the group approach.

Voldsea's dagger, the ancient Blade of Woe, entered the man's body, killing him instantly. The guard fell silently to the snowy ground. The group never slowed their pace, and marched directly toward White Hall, the home of the Jarl of Dawnstar. As they walked, they encountered two more dead guards, killed by Tegana's arrows.

Kyrimon summoned a mass invisibility spell, cloaking their entire group from the sight of others. His next spell unlocked the front door to White Hall, and the blustering wind blew it open. The group entered and spread out in their assigned directions. Each Dark Brother was assigned to one of the four rooms of the Hall, with Voldsea watching over the entrance.

In moments, the blades of the Dark Brothers were bloodied by the throats of the family and servants of Jarl Vigmadhr of Dawnstar. The son of the late and disavowed Queen Silda, claimant of the throne of Skyrim, would no longer be a threat to the future that Aedra and Daedra alike desired.

When her four Dark Brothers emerged into the throne room, nodding to indicate their completed tasks, Voldsea whispered two single words: "Hail Sithis." Her Dark Brothers repeated the words. Voldsea removed her Elven helm and placed it, facing outward, on the Jarl's throne. The helm was enchanted with an enhancement for Destruction magic, a favorite of the Thalmor. The note placed beneath the helm was written by the careful hand of Kyrimon, but only two words were written on the parchment: "One down…."

Kyrimon once again cast a mass invisibility spell. The group exited White Hall and made for the portal. Once clear of the town, the invisibility spell wore off, and Tegana was signaled to join them.

Once safe inside the Sanctuary, the group removed their helms and smiled at one another.

"Well, that was easy," Hanil, a Dunmer, said.

"Yes, it was," answered Voldsea as they walked into the armory to remove their Elven armor. "The next hit won't be."

* * *

"Good, that should do it," Jorleif stood witness to Ulfric, Ralof, and Brynjarr signing the official adoption papers. "Welcome to the family," Jorleif said to Brynjarr, an obligatory smile crossing his face.

Ralof hugged his son, and then kissed his husband. "You've made us both very happy, Brynjarr. I think your mother would be happy, too."

"Would she?" Brynjarr asked. He wasn't so sure.

"Of course she would be." Ralof kept one arm around his son as they walked toward the banquet table. "Brynja loved the Stormcloaks, and Skyrim. To see her son grown, strong and handsome, an heir to the country she fought for, to the Jarl she served…. Yes, she would be very proud; in my heart, I know it."

Seated across the table from Ralof and Brynjarr, Ulfric handed his step-son a small, soft pouch, and smiled. "Consider this… your first inheritance. Give it to someone worthy."

Brynjarr gave the King a puzzled look, and then dropped the pouch's contents into his palm. Sparkling from the light of a multitude of candles was the largest flawless diamond either Brynjarr or Ralof had ever seen. The gem was mounted on a delicate gold band. Brynjarr looked over at his father, who smiled knowingly.

Ralof knew to whom Brynjarr would offer the ring.


	17. Futility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter Soundtrack: Lights "River (Acoustic Version)", Katie Herzig "The Waking Sleep", Ioanna Gika and Pete Anthony "Gone"]

 

"Are you sure,  _Bear_? I thought Aela might make a better Harbinger," Eirin said to her husband.

Fjornir nodded as he finished writing the order. "Vilkas has earned it, and Farkas and Aela still have the beast blood running through them. They're not as even-tempered as Kodlak was…. I believe Vilkas will take the position more seriously."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right…." Eirin wasn't feeling well that morning, and had been lying down all day.

"Is your head any better?"

"No, and neither is my stomach. I've never had a headache so bad."

Fjornir smiled. "Perhaps it comes along with 'the change'."

" _Hmph._ " Eirin scowled and reached for her tea. The conversation involving writing up their last wishes was not helping her feel any better. "Would 'Narah still have Breezehome?"

"No,  _Dyra… you_  would get Breezehome. Nehenarah can live with you, if she wants."

"And Dezserahhe and Iilahaan and Kenlaas, too," Eirin added. "Until I die, anyway…."

"Which won't be for another fifty years, at least."

" _Ooph,_  no thank you. I'd be a walking skeleton by then."

Fjornir chuckled.

"What makes you so sure I'm going to outlive you, anyway?" Eirin asked.

"Aren't Healers supposed to have unnaturally prolonged lives?"

"No… at least my family doesn't."

"Well, you will. I won't allow you to die before me," Fjornir said.

"I don't think you have a say in the matter,  _Bear."_

"Sure I do. I know how to get to Sovngarde now, remember?" He winked at his wife. "I'll threaten Shor himself to not take you before you're shriveled and grey."

"And can barely walk," Eirin added.

"Exactly," Fjornir pointed his quill at Eirin. He wrote in silence for a while, and then added, "I wouldn't be able to live without you,  _Dyra."_

Eirin gazed at her husband of sixteen years. "Of course you would, Fjornir. Don't be silly."

"No, I'm serious, Eirin. I told you when Brynja died…. If that had been you, I would have been destroyed. My body may have breathed and walked and ate and slept, but I would have been dead inside." Fjornir slumped in his chair, and stopped writing.

A sad smile spread across Eirin's face, and she stood to approach her husband. She wrapped her arms around his strong neck and kissed his cheek. "Crazy Man," she whispered into her husband's ear. Fjornir grasped Eirin's wrists and kissed her skin. He rested his head back against Eirin's bosom and gazed up at her big brown eyes.

"I don't care what that old man said," Fjornir said in a quiet voice. "I would marry you again and again, fate or no fate."

Eirin leaned down and kissed her husband upside-down. His thick, dark, greying red-brown beard tickled her nose.

* * *

 

"Murdered!?  _All_ of them!?" Ulfric nearly yelled at the Stormcloak soldier that reported the murders in Dawnstar to the King.

"Yes, my King," the soldier replied. "The Jarl and his entire family and staff, and several guards. Looks like a Thalmor execution, but we can't figure out why. We found an Elven helmet and this note on the Jarl's throne." The soldier handed the King the short note.

"Gods damn it all," Ulfric growled. "What do our scouts say, Yrsarald? Why did no one see this coming? Which Jarl is next?"

Yrsarald Thrice-Pierce approached the King. "Nothing, nothing at all, Ulfric. We have no idea what is going on. There have been no reports of Thalmor assassins, armies, or even scouts. Either they're making themselves invisible, or they're using some sort of magic that makes tracking them impossible. They still have an embassy stronghold north of Solitude, and they took Falkreath Hold. Beyond that, they are not known to have a presence in Skyrim."

"We need to appoint a new Jarl, quickly," Jorleif, the King's steward, interjected. "Dawnstar has had enough troubles in the recent past."

"I left five of my men there for the time being, just in case the townsfolk get restless," the Stormcloak soldier reported.

"If the whole family is gone, I have no idea who should be Jarl," Jorleif said. "Perhaps a retired soldier?"

"What about marshal law?" Galmar asked. The other men turned to the commander. Galmar shrugged. "It's a viable option, if no new Jarl is apparent yet." He pointed to the Stormcloak soldier. "Let this one's troop run the place for a while. Appointing a new Jarl so soon is a bad decision. What if the Thalmor just kill him, too?"

Jorleif kept his mouth shut.

"Good thinking, Galmar," Ulfric said, then turned to the Stormcloak soldier. "You may return to Dawnstar with supplies, gold, whatever else you think is needed. Tell your men the plans for marshal law for the time being. The townsfolk may not approve, but help them understand that this may be best, for now."

"Yes, my King." The soldier saluted Ulfric and left the main hall with Jorleif.

"So," Galmar said to Ulfric, "that's a bit of a coincidence."

"No kidding," Ulfric muttered.

"What do you think it means?" the commander asked. "The Thalmor want Brynjarr alive? Want  _you_  alive?"

"I don't know." Ulfric ran his fingers down one of his braids. "Perhaps they want to kill me themselves. Perhaps it's a warning, and they're saving me for last. But the Thalmor aren't about slinking around in the dark, assassinating people in their sleep. That's more the Dark Brotherhood."

"Think it's related to Silda?"

Ulfric let out a grunting sigh, unsure of his answer.

"Did you order the hit, Ulfric?" Ralof asked. He had been keeping quiet until then. He couldn't get passed the thought that his husband may have performed the Black Sacrament in retaliation for the attempted murder of Brynjarr. He wondered what kind of ritual would be necessary to bargain for the deaths of an entire family and the people that looked after them.

"No, Ralof, I didn't. I was going to have the boy arrested, not killed." Ulfric's hand covered his tired face. "It does sound like the Brotherhood, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," Yrsarald agreed.

"Galmar," Ulfric turned to the old general, "send detachments to every Hold. I don't want any more families slaughtered."

"Of course, Ulfric." Galmar set off immediately with Yrsarald to write out the orders.

Ralof walked up the steps to Ulfric's throne and grasped his husband's hand. "Don't worry; I won't let them kill you." Ralof smiled and leaned forward to kiss Ulfric.

Ulfric grasped Ralof's hands in his own, then stood from the throne and walked with his husband to the banquet table. Ulfric downed a mug-full of wine. "I'm tired, Ralof. I should have had an heir old enough by now so that I could step down as King, but…," the sixty-one year old man sighed, "I'm not worried about the Thalmor. I think being  _King_  is going to kill me. It's you and Bera I worry for. And Brynjarr."

"Dawnstar is a tiny town compared to here and Whiterun. I wouldn't worry about the major Holds. Our children will be fine. I will be fine."

"And what if they are using invisibility spells? Or, who knows…. What if they can shape-shift?" Ulfric slumped into a chair.

"Shape-shift?" Ralof laughed and sat next to Ulfric. "I don't think so, Ulfie."

" _Don't_  call me that here," Ulfric grumbled and looked around the room to make sure it was empty.

"No problem, Ulfie," Ralof grinned.

Ulfric grabbed Ralof's tunic and tugged him close. "You…," Ulfric's lips grazed Ralof's, tempted to kiss him, "this… is serious…." He released his grip on his husband's tunic, but kept his face close, and looked into Ralof's clear blue eyes. "If anyone hurt you, I'd rip his head off with my bare hands."

"You always had the best sweet-talk, Ulfie," Ralof said softly, then smiled wide, fully aware of his antagonizing words.

Ulfric growled and stood from his chair, then grabbed Ralof's hand and pulled him to his feet. He led Ralof directly to the stairway that led upstairs.

"Where are we going, Ulfie?" Ralof teased.

"Somewhere where I can punish you," the King muttered.

"Is that a promise?" Ralof grinned.

* * *

 

"Nehenarah, we have a problem…," Aran, a Tongue, said to her when he found her meditating in a corner in High Hrothgar.

"Problem?" she asked.

"It's Arngeir. He…." The man frowned.

"No…," Nehenarah exhaled the word.

"Yes," Aran frowned.

"When?"

"This morning, before breakfast. But before he died…." The Tongue's expression was dire.

"What, Aran?" Nehenarah stood from her bench.

"He… He apparently had a vision. Or a hallucination, we're not sure."

"A vision?" Nehenarah cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know? Did he say something?"

"Yes, he spoke quite clearly, full of life, before life left him."

Nehenarah frowned. "Take me to him."

As they walked down the hallway toward Arngeir's quarters, Nehenarah asked Aran to tell her about the vision.

"He wailed about seeing dragons enslaved," Aran said.

" _Enslaved!?_ "

"Yes. Dragons shackled to massive, enchanted chains. The Thalmor had them. They used them to destroy everything."

"Divines help us…," Nehenarah muttered.

"We don't know if it was a vision of the present or future, or just a dying man seeing things," Aran said.

"Aran, this is Arngeir we're talking about. He was like me, a conduit of Akatosh. If Arngeir had shouted something about sweetrolls growing legs and walking around, I would have said it was nothing but a dying man's ramblings. But I don't think Akatosh would have wasted his old conduit's final breath." Nehenarah sighed. "My mother told me that when people are dying, sometimes they see things that we cannot. They are somewhere between dead and alive – not yet in the in-between, but no longer in our realm, either. What if Arngeir was in that state – in that place before death took him? What if he saw the future? What if that is happening  _right now_?" Her voice heightened to a shout. She had stopped walking. She took a deep breath, and continued down the hall. "I bet Linnras would know," she said.

"Who's Linnras?" Aran asked.

Nehenarah stopped walking again and turned to the middle-aged Tongue. "Linnras Tyraevi." She stared at the man. "Dreadlocks…."

Aran shook his head and shrugged.

 _You bastard_ , she silently cursed at the god-man. She wondered if Linnras had erased everyone else's memory of him.  _Gods damn it_ , she said to herself.

She started once more down the hallway. Upon entering Arngeir's chambers, she knelt before the still, cold body of the old Greybeard. His last thoughts must have been of terror, agony and death, for his face was frozen in a pain-filled grimace. His eyelids had been closed, but Nehenarah knew that was not how the man had died. She knew his final visions were terrifying, and he had seen way too much.

Nehenarah grasped the dead man's folded hands and leaned forward. Her forehead rested on her hands as she sent silent prayers to the Divines to watch over her mentor's soul. She also sent silent orders to Linnras/Akatosh/whoever to answer her pleas, to tell her what the old man had seen before he succumbed to old age.

As Nehenarah began to silently cry out of a mix of grief and confusion, she heard a whisper echo in her mind.

" _Brom. Shur brom, dii kiim, ahrk krii pah. Sav kiiru."_

Nehenarah's eyes flashed open and she sat up straight. "It's true," she whispered.

"What? What's true?" Stjarna, another Tongue asked.

"The Thalmor. They have dragons," Nehenarah said in a faint voice.

"How do you know? Did you have a similar vision?" Aran asked.

"No, but…. The Thalmor have an embassy in the north of Skyrim, yes?" Nehenarah asked Aran and Stjarna.

"Yes…. Near Solitude," Stjarna answered.

Nehenarah stood and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Akatosh says to go north." She turned to Aran, Stjarna, and the other Tongues and Greybeards that remained at High Hrothgar. "He says to kill them all. To save…," Nehenarah frowned, pondering the meaning of the words, wondering if she understood them correctly, "to save our children."

" _Kiiiiiirrruuu,"_ Borri, another Greybeard, whispered. The walls of High Hrothgar quaked. Borri then made some gestures with his hands and arms, only some of which Nehenarah understood. The gestures she understood meant "dragon mother".

Nehenarah frowned, and turned to Aran. "How are we supposed to kill Thalmor who have dragons on their side? An embassy full of them? It's suicide."

"We'll need an army," Stjarna said. "And dragons of our own."

"We  _have_  an army," Aran corrected Stjarna, "and dragons."

"More importantly, how do we break the spell that enables the Thalmor to  _enslave_  dragons?" the oldest of the Tongues, Hagrund, asked.

The Tongues and Greybeards all turned to Nehenarah.

The young woman felt a lump form in her throat.


	18. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter Soundtrack: The Daylights "Weapons", Lupe Fiasco "Battle Scars", Imagine Dragons "Radioactive"]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient as I get my real life in order. I didn't want to rush this chapter, and it's kind of long, but I hope it keeps you sated for another week or so. As always, check Thuum DOT org for help with dragonspeak!

 

Paarthurnax used his dewclaw to scratch the words into the snow atop the Throat of the World. Uttering the words was dangerous – this, the Thalmor had proven. Nehenarah watched as the claw made the scratches.

 _Hah,_ Nehenarah thought to herself.  _Mind._

Paarthurnax continued to scratch the linear letters.

 _Zaam. Slave._  Nehenarah swallowed hard.

Paarthurnax stepped away from the words he had finished writing in the snow.

 _Dov_.  _Dragon. Dragonkind._

"This…. This is the Shout the Thalmor used?" Nehenarah peered up at the ancient dragon.

" _Geh_ ," Paarthurnax affirmed.

"But…  _how_? How did they learn it? How does it work!?" Nehenarah paced back and forth, causing the snow beneath her to crunch over and over. "How do you know? Are you sure? Why does this Shout exist!?"

" _Sein, Dovakiir._ Long ago,  _aarre_ , Nord  _joorre_  created this  _Thu'um_  to free themselves from  _Sonaanne_ , Dragon Priests.  _Ahrk…._ The Thalmor  _ahnaar._ " Paarthurnax shifted, seemingly agitated by the thought.

"Did they torture  _dragons_!?" Nehenarah asked.

The beast snorted in laughter. " _Nid, Dovahkiir_. One cannot  _ahnaar_   _dov_.  _Dov_   _zokah_! Proud!  _Dov_  die before submitting to  _vobahlaan_ , unnnworrrrthy." The dragon stretched out the last word as if saying it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Then, a mortal? Who? A Tongue?"

" _Geh_ ,  _enesek_. One cannot know how many  _Sahkrenne_  are alive; it is possible the Thalmor found one." Paarthurnax stirred again. His wings shifted position and tail swished behind him.

"But how did a Tongue learn this Shout?"

" _Mindokni._ " Nehenarah thought Paarthurnax sounded like he sighed the word.

"So…," Nehenarah sat on a boulder in front of the dragon. Fur armor and a heavy cloak shielded her from the snowfall that Paarthurnax seemed not to notice. "What do we do?"

" _Dovahkiin kend krii imaaraan dovahhe._ " Paarthurnax's voice was softer than usual.

"What!?" Nehenarah saw her reflecting in the dragon's giant eye that stared back at her. "But why? There has to be another way! Akatosh told me to  _save_  the dragons up north!"

" _Nid. Imaaraan dovahhe_ are dangerous. The  _Thu'um_  controls  _hah se dovah_. Killing  _dovahhe_  releases  _sille_. You will save their souls,  _ziihea._ "

" _Ziimonahsedov,_ " Nehenarah whispered. She sat and thought for a moment. "But, my father…. He would take their souls into his own."

" _Geh._ "

"Is that not also bad!?"

Paarthurnax studied the young woman with his giant eye. "An enslaved dragon is dead already."

Nehenarah frowned. "If we take dragons with us, more might be enslaved."

" _Geh_." Black smoke puffed from Paarthurnax's nostrils.

"That would be bad."

" _Geh_."

"So mortals need to do this alone." Nehenarah tucked her knees in against her chest.

" _Krii imaagraan dovahhe. Krii_ Thalmor _se Brom. Krii sahlo Sahkren_."

"Kill the Tongue, too?"

" _Geh._ "

"What if the Thalmor in the north told others about the Shout?"

Paarthurnax shifted his wings again and huffed. " _Kend hadriid_." With those words, Paarthurnax backed away from the young woman and stomped over to the word wall upon which he often perched. He lowered his head and appeared as if asleep. The dragon was meditating.

Nehenarah slid off of the frozen boulder and trudged back to High Hrothgar. Aran had waited patiently for her to finish speaking with the grandmaster, and the two of them walked back in silence to the acropolis.

* * *

"The Redguard army is sailing along the coast and will converge with our legion at Fort Hraggstad." Fjornir spoke with Vilkas, Aela and Farkas, as well as Jarl Gudvar of Whiterun and his aides in the war room of Dragonsreach. He traced the paths the armies would take with his fingers. "The western and eastern legions will move in from the south through Dragon Bridge. The guardian dragons and one legion will remain here in Whiterun, and one legion will remain in Windhelm. I'm told more dragons will guard Windhelm. That leaves four legions going north to meet up with the legion at Hraggstad and the Redguard army."

"How many Thalmor are at the embassy?" Vilkas asked.

"Several hundred, last we heard," Fjornir answered. "And several dragons."

"And we're to kill the dragons?" asked Aela.

Fjornir nodded. "That's what Nehenarah said. We'll need all archers on them. I don't know if my own Shouts will overpower those of the Thalmor."

"And how can I be sure the dragons won't roast my archers before they know what happened!?" Aela's voice rose. She had trained over two dozen Companions in archery, including Agata, who preferred the bow to the sword. Unlike the infantry, archers wore lighter, leather armor that allowed them to loose arrows rapidly. Leather burnt much faster than steel.

"Fire-resistant shields," Fjornir answered as he looked into Aela's blue eyes. The woman had retained all the fierceness from her childhood. She was like a mother lioness protecting her young. "Your archers will loose their arrows while others shield them."

"We have that many fire-resistant shields?" Aela laughed at her own question.

Fjornir held Aela's gaze. "Yes. Farengar enchanted them for us. The shields are made of dragonbone; the handles won't heat up like steel would."

"Dragonbone... against dragon-fire?" Aela relaxed. "I suppose we could do worse."

"Mm..." Fjornir pulled back his winter cloak to reveal his dragonbone armor. "I've had a shield made out of it for a long time now, and it's been a life-saver. I had just enough to commission thirty shields and five hundred arrows."

"Dragonbone arrows!?" Aela laughed. "Well, finally I'm impressed." She smiled at her friend and childhood sweetheart – though Aela would never use that word to describe her past relationship with Fjornir.

"So, infantry, then, will deal with the elves?" Farkas asked.

"Yes," Fjornir answered. "We'll also have some battle-mages coming in from Winterhold any day now. They'll apply themselves as needed."

"Are we waiting until spring?" asked Vilkas.

Fjornir looked to his side at his friend. "No. The Redguards will arrive within the month. We'll wait for them north of Dragon Bridge. Jarl Elisif has already agreed to supply the troops while we wait."

"Elisif!" Vilkas laughed. "I'd heard she was the Thalmor's puppet, even after Ulfric gained her 'allegiance'."

"She was," Jarl Gudvar answered, "until she heard the Thalmor had begun to murder each Jarl and their households in their sleep."

* * *

Ulfric stared at the Stormcloak officer in disbelief. "The Jarl of Markarth? And—"

"And her family, yes, Thonar and Betrid, their children; the entire household – Steward, housecarl, guards, …." The Stormcloak officer stood nervously before the King.

"The 'Thalmor', again?" Ulfric's tone was more annoyed than worried.

"Yes, my King," the officer confirmed. "They left a note, and Elven helmet."

"Let me guess – 'Two Down'?" the King offered.

"Exactly that, my King," the officer nodded.

"Why Njala? The Silver-Bloods? I don't understand." Ulfric smoothed his hand down his grey-blonde beard and looked toward Galmar and Yrsarald.

"Killing off powerful families?" Yrsarald shrugged.

Ulfric turned back to the Stormcloak officer. "Markarth will be under martial law until the Thalmor threat is gone. Settle the rest with Jorleif." He waved the officer away.

"Ulfric…," Galmar approached the throne with hesitation, "what if it really  _is_  the Thalmor? Or what if they are incorporating the Dark Brotherhood? Taking out the Jarls one by one to weaken the country?"

"A country is not weak because of a lack of  _Jarls_. No…," Ulfric stood, walked down to the floor of the main hall, and paced back and forth. "I have… a different theory." Ulfric turned to the banquet table where Ralof sat quietly, listening. Ralof saw the corners of Ulfric's mouth twitch up for just a moment. Ulfric quickly returned his gaze to Galmar. "Someone, likely a member of the Dark Brotherhood, is using the death of Jarls and their families to anger the people of the country."

"Against the Thalmor?" Galmar asked.

"I believe so."

"But… why?" asked Yrsarald. "I thought the Dark Brotherhood only killed when someone performed that ritual."

"The Black Sacrament," Ulfric said. He continued to pace. "Perhaps the Brotherhood wants to rally the people? I don't know."

"I'll make sure to double the guard in the remaining Holds," Galmar offered.

"Mm, yes," Ulfric continued to pace, stealing the occasional glance at his husband.

"Do you really think this is happening… on purpose?" Yrsarald stroked his goatee. "Done by people on our side? Just to make us hate the Thalmor more?"

"Or is that what the Thalmor  _want_ us to think?" Galmar mused.

"I don't know." Ulfric finally stood still with his arms crossed over his chest. "But if the Thalmor… Brotherhood… can sneak into Understone Keep…."

"They won't snake their way into this palace, Ulfric," Galmar said with conviction.

Ralof looked up at his husband, catching his gaze. They both had dark circles under their eyes from too little sleep.

"We thought that Dawnstar had something to do with Silda," Ulfric continued, "but, now we know that it doesn't. At least we think it doesn't."

"Silda performed the sacrament and asked for herself to be killed to try to pin it on you, or me, perhaps," Ralof chimed in. "I think her case is completely separate. She was just… crazy."

"So," Ulfric began, "if it is the Brotherhood, who is performing the rituals? Who would want the Jarls dead?"

"A deposed Jarl? From before the war?" Ralof suggested, scratching his chin. "Balgruuf."

"He  _did_  say we would all pay, after we took Whiterun," added Galmar.

Ulfric shook his head. "Then why the Thalmor helms? It doesn't make sense."

"To make a point? That the war was the Thalmor's idea? And the Jarls' deaths are our fault?" Galmar's voice rose in volume.

" _Don't_  repeat Tullius's words to me," Ulfric growled.

"He has a point, Ulfric," Ralof spoke quietly from his seat at the head of the banquet table.

Ulfric studied his husband's tired face. He knew Galmar was right, and that his point was valid. His instinct, however, felt there was more to the murders. The King sighed, and seated himself on his throne. "Let's pray that no more Jarls die, hmm? Even the deposed ones…."

The other men nodded.

* * *

"Why can't I go north!? Akatosh TOLD me to go north!" Nehenarah was practically screaming at the Tongues and Greybeards at High Hrothgar.

"You told us He said to go north; He didn't say  _you_  had to," Aran corrected her.

The young woman was squealing.

"You're needed south, in Falkreath," Hagrund spoke quietly. "You need to take the dragons south. We need to weaken the Thalmor's defenses before the army moves there."

"And what if my father and Brynjarr DIE up north!?" She was screaming now.

"Then it's best you are not there, Nehenarah," Stjarna tried her best to speak calmly. "Surely you wished them a good fight while you were in Whiterun?"

" _Brynjarr_  wasn't there! He was in Windhelm for some stupid reason!" Nehenarah picked up a jug of water, tossed it across the room, and then fell to the stone floor in tears. The jug bounced several times, sending water everywhere and causing a metallic  _thunk_  to echo inside the stone hall.

The Tongues and Greybeards exchanged looks. Nehenarah had always been a handful, but ever since she'd returned from Hammerfell, she'd been a complete, emotional mess, and highly unpredictable.

"Nehenarah," Hagrund approached the weeping Dragon Child. He knelt before her on the cold stone. "Did Arngeir or anyone else ever teach you the Shout 'Drain Magicka'?"

Nehenarah looked up at the old Tongue. "Arngeir? No, he didn't teach me much. Linn—." She looked up at Hagrund, stopping her speech, remembering that Linnras had erased everyone's memory of him. "No, no, Arngeir never taught me anything called that." She thought for a moment. She knew most Tongues only knew one, two, sometimes three Shouts. Linnras knew them all, as well did her father, the Dragonborn. "My father taught me most Shouts that I know," she lied.

"Did he teach you 'Drain Vitality'?" Hagrund asked.

"Yes."

"And what about 'Become Ethereal'?"

"No. Not really, just the first word."

"That will do. What about 'Disarm'?"

"Yes".

"Good. 'Drain Vitality' is similar to 'Drain Magicka', and 'Disarm' of course removes a weapon. And what is magic, but the Thalmor's natural weapon? You will need this Shout when you go south with the dragons." Hagrund stood, and held out his hand to help Nehenarah do the same.

She looked up at the Tongue and wiped her tears away. "Does my father know this Shout?"

"Of course. Without it, the Thalmor battle-mages would overcome an army of sword-wielders easily." Hagrund wagged his fingers at the young woman, urging her to take his hand.

Nehenarah sniffled, and let Hagrund pull her to her feet.

"Why wasn't I taught this Shout before?"  _Linnras should have taught me_ , she thought.

"Perhaps no one else knew it, but I do. I arrived late; my apologies."

Hagrund led Nehenarah out to the courtyard. He had her stand before him. "Now, I'm going to use this Shout on you. The effects are temporary, of course, but once completed you should not be able to use your natural magic."

"Manipulation," Nehenarah corrected.

"What?" Hagrund asked.

"I don't do magic, I manipulate energies." She let her palms sparkle and glow.

"Same difference, Nehenarah. Now stand still, and for the love of Talos, don't shoot lightning at me."

Stjarna stifled a laugh.

Hagrund ignored his fellow Tongue, and concentrated on Nehenarah. "Are you ready?"

"Yes…," she said, her hands resting on her hips.

Hagrund inhaled, and then Shouted: " _LAH… FEIM… ZUN."_

A purple-blue hue glowed around Nehenarah. She blinked a few times. "I don't feel any different."

"Try to Heal," Hagrund said.

She did, but her palms failed to glow. She stared at her bare, unremarkable appendages through the purple haze. "Well, that should come in handy…." She smiled. " _Heh_ , get it?"

* * *

Two hundred Redguards. One hundred and fifty Companions. Six battle-mages from Winterhold.

The legion at Fort Hraggstad plus the four from throughout Skyrim, save about one hundred total soldiers that stayed behind to help guard the remaining Jarls, made for over five hundred sons and daughters of Skyrim joining the battle in the north. Along the way from Hammerfell, the Redguard captains had even recruited ten Breton battle-mages in High Rock. Nearly nine hundred soldiers total stood ready to face the Thalmor.

Fjornir thought if this army could not win, then no army could.

The Dragonborn eyed the Thalmor embassy from the front line, still a considerable distance away. He saw the three dragons perched atop a large stone building. No physical chains bound them, but there they stayed, guarding the property. He noticed that the embassy had grown considerably in size. Where the dragons perched appeared to be a palace or large hall, and a simpler building that he thought may have been a barracks. The walls had grown in height, and a guard tower loomed over the main entrance. He recalled the day he snuck into the embassy so many years ago; what was then little more than a village was now a citadel. He considered how he and a small group of soldiers had stormed Northwatch Keep so many years ago and destroyed it and all Thalmor inside, and thought that the elves had made the embassy their new stronghold.

He had been here sixteen years ago, mere months after wedding Eirin.

Memories of the night before he left for the north came flooding back.

He had said goodnight to his children, including Haming, his wife and their two little ones. Fjornir had then retired to his bedroom at Jorrvaskr to find a distraught Eirin. She had been upset for days, barely eating, and feeling tired and weak because of her depression-induced fasting.

" _Dyra_ ," Fjornir sighed when he saw the state of his wife, "you can't go on like this."

"Like what? Like what…. I told you, I have a bad feeling." The frown that marred Eirin's face had been a permanent fixture of late.

Fjornir removed his tunic and snuggled up against Eirin in their bed. "There's no need. Our army will outnumber the Thalmor three-to-one."

"I can't control the feeling,  _Bear_. Just… live, and then I'll be alright."

Fjornir chuckled and tenderly kissed the back of Eirin's neck. "Live, die…. So long as we find each other in Sovngar—"

"Don't, Fjornir…." Tears made trails down her face and soaked her pillow.

"Alright, alright." His hand ran down the long single braid that lay between them.

The couple lay together that night in mournful silence, letting their lips say what their mouths could not, and their bodies learn what their ears did not wish to hear.

Fjornir was thankful that he recognized none of the dragons he was about to kill. They were young ones – weaker than the ancients. The orders had come from Paarthurnax who entrusted Odahviing to deliver the information to Fjornir. Mind control – a Shout even he did not know. He could tame a dragon momentarily, long enough for it to fight for him instead of against him, or even let him ride the beast, but the effect was temporary. He had no idea how the Thalmor created, or learned, a lasting Shout that bent the dragon's will so far that it snapped.

Nehenarah would not be joining them for this battle, Odahviing had also communicated; no dragons would. Fjornir understood, and he knew that this was only a minor set-back.

"Archers! Mages!" Fjornir shouted the orders. The archers and battle-mages advanced, slowly, and Fjornir with them. If the Shout Dragonrend didn't work, ranged melee was all they had against the beasts.

Fjornir stood firm, still concealed from the dragon guards, and breathed in the crisp winter air. He prayed to Talos to send his Shouts far, and hoped that the god's amulet he wore around his neck aided in recovering the energy it took to use the Storm Voice.

The dragons were perched too far apart for him to use the Shout once for more than one of them, so he aimed for the center, knowing the other dragons would fly off anyway. The archers and mages knew that once his Shout had finished, they were to begin their assault on the other two, hopefully stunning them momentarily.

Aran, Stjarna and Hagrund, the Tongues who had aided Nehenarah, had joined the army in the north. They were to use Unrelenting Force as much as possible on the dragons. Aran stood with Fjornir, while Stjarna and Hagrund focused on the other dragons.

The Tongues watched Fjornir as he readied his body for the initial Shout that would signal the beginning of the battle.  _Talos guide me_ , Fjornir prayed silently. The Dragonborn inhaled deeply, and Shouted, " _JOOR… ZAH FRUL."_

The army advanced. Arrows, balls of fire, bolts of lightning and spikes of ice shot forth from the trees. The Tongues' Shouts thundered from the front line. Fjornir thanked Talos that Dragonrend had taken to the beast. Its body was tangled in a bright blue glow as the dragon struggled to keep alight and failed miserably. Companions, Stormcloaks, Nord soldiers and Redguards alike screamed forward to attack the beast, several turning black from the intense flames that were let loose by the grounded dragon. Fjornir ran with the front line, wielding his dragonbone sword. The young dragon was distracted, and reacted too late when Fjornir leapt onto the back of the beast, easily sending his sword into the back of the neck of the dragon, severing its spinal cord.

Fjornir wasted no time. He lifted his gaze to the sky to search for the other two dragons. The swirling light and aching, pulsating sensation that came with absorbing the dead dragon's soul was only a mild distraction after so many years of undergoing the process. Fjornir locked onto another dragon, and hit it with Dragonrend.

That's when the gleaming Elven arrow shot passed his line of sight and entered Aran's neck.

"Gods damn it," Fjornir spat, and thanked his decision to commission dragonbone shields for the archers. He ran for cover, searching for the other dragon, and then Shouted Dragonrend once he spotted it. He ran over to the previously grounded dragon, but halted when he saw a dozen Redguards piling onto the beast. Their extraordinarily sharp swords would suffice, he knew. He turned to the third dragon and saw the same – Companions and Redguards had brought the beast to an end.

The roar above them and to the north was unexpected. An enormous, white dragon then soared over them, spewing ice crystals across the ground.

"Shit," Fjornir muttered. He watched in horror as several Companions and Redguards were turned to ice, and saw limbs freeze stiff while confused soldiers wailed from the stinging pain of ice eating away at their flesh.

The Thalmor's soldiers then spilled out of the embassy. If the sky had not been overcast, their gold-like armor would have blinded Fjornir's army. "THALMOR!" Fjornir shouted, forcing everyone's attention from the sky to the ground.

Fjornir followed the path of the Frost Dragon in the sky. The dragon rained its deadly ice indiscriminately, killing several Thalmor as well as Nords and Redguards. Fjornir Shouted at the Frost Dragon, but missed. Ice claimed more lives before Dragonrend brought the beast down and Fjornir claimed its life unaided. Without the Shout Dragonrend, bringing down a Frost Dragon, or anything more powerful, would have taken way too long, and more soldiers would have died. He silently thanked the ancient Nords who created the Shout, and then recalled their promise to him before he left Sovngarde.

The Dragonborn watched as the battle continued. Aela and Farkas had refrained from transforming into werewolves, something Fjornir had worried about happening. He didn't want them to die by the hand of an ally just because they kept their secret from the rest of the Companions.

Fjornir looked to the ramparts of the embassy building and spotted Thalmor archers readying arrows. "Ramparts!" Fjornir shouted the command before shouting Call of Valor, summoning Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, Felldir the Old, and Hakon One-Eye to aid in the fight. The spectral warriors immediately scaled the walls of the citadel, roaring fiercely as they slayed elf after elf, sending them to their deaths from the tall platform.

Fjornir turned his attention to the ground and at the Thalmor infantry. He readied himself, and Shouted " _KRII… LUN AUS."_  The Thalmor's armor shimmered with a faint purple light that separated the very fibers of the metal and allowed weapons and arrows to penetrate easier. His dragonbone sword left many Thalmor in pieces.

His own archers and mages attacked the remaining Thalmor that stood on the ramparts. Fjornir assessed the living and fallen members of his army; the former outnumbered the latter. Fjornir then turned to the front gate. Fjornir walked into the embassy, a hoard of Companions at his back including Brynjarr, who Fjornir had only then recognized. The young man wore a curious steel helmet with wings on either side; the metal completely covered his face. Fjornir only recognized him by his cuirass and dragonbone sword – gifts Fjornir himself had given him to apologize for reacting the way he did on Nehenarah's sixteenth birthday. Brynjarr had returned from Windhelm the night before the army moved out of Whiterun, but Fjornir didn't have the time to ask why he had gone there. It didn't matter – Fjornir was glad to have Brynjarr fighting at his side.

While Fjornir and Brynjarr smiled at one another, other Companions stormed forward, crashing into Thalmor soldiers. Fjornir heard a familiar sound, and raised his gaze to the battle. He recognized the turquoise color of Stoneflesh protecting the Thalmor, causing the Companions to barely make a scratch against them.

"Stand back!" Fjornir ordered. The Companions obeyed, and before the Thalmor knew why the order had been given, Fjornir Shouted, " _LAH… FEIM ZUN."_ The turquoise shimmer faded from the Elven armor. "Advance!"

Companions were soon joined by Redguards. From the inside of the citadel, the infantry could scale the steps up to the ramparts and easily take out the few remaining Thalmor archers. When the courtyard was emptied of living Thalmor, Fjornir gave his final order. "Squads!"

Pre-ordained squads of ten or more swarmed the citadel, entering buildings to take out any remaining Thalmor, release prisoners, and take any living Tongues into custody. Twenty squads were assigned to stay put outside with Fjornir to defend against reinforcements or more dragons, but none came.

Fjornir turned to Farkas. "Take two squads into that cave I told you about, just in case the Thalmor decided to escape the way I did. The trap door is near the dungeon." Farkas nodded, and the squads left.

He turned to Vilkas. "Take two squads to the cave's exit. Do you remember the way there that I described?"

"Yes," Vilkas said, and did as he was told.

A roar then sounded from far away, and then again, closer. Fjornir watched the sky. "Eyes front!" he reminded his army to keep their eyes to the ground. He watched for the oncoming dragon, and soon enough it came. The beast was large, time-worn, and red. The dragon soared above the citadel in circles, never lowering from out of arrow's reach.

"It's not attacking?" asked a female Companion.

"No," Fjornir said. "It's Odahviing, checking on our progress."

"How can you be sure?" a Nord man asked. He stole a peek at the dragon above them.

The red dragon spoke at a thunderous level. " _Grah?_ "

Fjornir inhaled, and shouted a single dragon word, " _Laas!_ "

The dragon answered with another word, " _Ov_ ," and then flew off to the southeast.

"What was that?" asked a Redguard man.

"Our agreed-upon signal," Fjornir answered.

"For what?" the same Redguard asked.

"For victory." Fjornir smiled.


	19. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter Soundtrack: Cary Brothers "Free Like You Make Me", Television Keeps Us Apart "Can't Let Go", The Rescues "Follow Me Back Into the Sun", Meiko "Reasons To Love You"]

 

"What do you mean ' _pregnant'_!?" Pacing back and forth in her bedroom at Jorrvaskr, Eirin yelled at Mila Valentia, who was herself just days away from giving birth to her and Haming's third child.

"I would have thought you'd recognize the symptoms by now, Eirin," Mila teased. "If you don't believe me, ask old Farengar to perform one of those detection spells."

Eirin planted her hands on her hips and continued to pace, all the while shaking her head. "It's not possible. No. No…."

"From what I hear going on in Jorrvaskr, I'd say it's  _very_ possible…." Eirin spun on her heels and shot Mila a look that wiped the smirk off the younger woman's face. "Well, frankly, I would have thought you'd be thrilled. You  _love_  children."

Eirin slumped onto her bed and began to bite her nails. "Not now, with Fjornir…. Not when he's…." She shook her head again. "He might…."

"He'll be back. He's the  _Dragonborn_."

"He might not, Mila." She looked across the room at her adopted son's wife. Since Fjornir had left for the north, tears had rarely been vacant from Eirin's eyes, and today was no exception.

Mila got up from her chair and sat beside Eirin on the edge of her bed. She wrapped an arm around her mother-in-law's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. When she felt Eirin's body jerk in a laugh, she sat up straight and looked at the woman. "What's funny?"

Eirin smiled, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I just remembered – I had very few symptoms with Iilahaan. I had no idea I was pregnant with her until…. Well, I suppose until three months had gone. I had been distracted and didn't realize I'd missed my blood moon twice in a row. Then I started to get a belly, and, well…."

Mila grasped Eirin's hands with her own. "You're so young, Eirin. I don't know why you thought you were done having children already."

"Most women I've known stopped having children after about my age, so, I wasn't sure."

Mila sighed and rested her head on Eirin's shoulder. "Oh, I hope you have another boy. Kenlaas has my Rolf to play with, but a brother would be nice, hmm?"

"Maybe both of us should have boys," Eirin smiled and stroked Mila's dark hair. "It's unfair to the young men of Whiterun, being outnumbered by little ladies."

The women laughed and hugged for a long while. Despite realizing that the slightly upset stomach she'd been having on and off for the last two months was likely  _not_  due to nerves, Eirin still couldn't shake the feeling that there was something to be nervous about.

* * *

Falkreath is a big Hold. Helgen, to where dozens of Dunmer and Argonians had relocated after the reconstruction project was complete, was turned into a walled city with villages outside the citadel. It was not known if any non-Thalmor resided within the city walls, but it was clear to the dragon scouts that the ex-Windhelm residents were still alive. Upon hearing the news, Nehenarah ordered the dragons to avoid attacking the city for now. First, they had to concentrate on the north-eastern wall that separated Ivarstead from the Thalmor-occupied Hold. Riverwood, still abandoned after the residents were evacuated to Whiterun, sat untouched just north of the Hold's border.

Nehenarah rode on the back of Odahviing, shouting in  _Dovahzul_  commands to the dragon warriors. They took the risk assuming the Thalmor in the south did not also have a Tongue held captive who could Shout and claim the minds of the dragons. They were right.

There were, however, thousands of Thalmor in the south. Odahviing and Nehenarah knew their initial assault would only make a small dent in these forces. However, unlike mortals, the dragons would not tire for many days. The dragon's assault would continue until Fjornir's army arrived.

Nehenarah and her dragon army concentrated on the fortified gate along the road from Ivarstead. Dragon-fire engulfed the defensive walls. Once their magic was drained by Nehenarah's Shout, Drain Magicka, the Thalmor archers burned under their Elven armor. When the wooden gate doors were weakened, a dragon used its tail to smash it to pieces.

The next stage was to evacuate the non-Thalmor residents of Helgen to Ivarstead. To do this, Nehenarah relied on the natural fears of mortals and flew with her entire dragon army – one dozen dragons altogether – and feigned an intent to attack the villages. The dragons circled above, occasionally swooping low to influence the direction of the fleeing villagers, effectively herding the citizens north-east towards the gate. Any stragglers that broke away from the Dunmer-Argonian herd and headed in the wrong direction were swiftly picked up by dragons in their huge feet and transported directly to Ivarstead. Nehenarah hadn't been convinced of the impromptu plan forged by Odahviing, but it worked well enough, despite likely scaring the villagers to near-death.

Once all the villagers were safe in the vicinity of Ivarstead, however confused, Odahviing landed a safe distance from the Dunmer and Argonians, letting Nehenarah slide off his back before taking off immediately. Prepping for the arrival of Fjornir's army, Nehenarah had ordered several dragons to destroy the north-west gate along the road that lead to Rorikstead. The gatekeepers fell fast after Odahviing Shouted Drain Magicka, and a dragon scout flew north to find Fjornir and the army.

The stunned and frightened villagers stared at Nehenarah. She was dressed head-to-toe in elaborate fur clothing adorned with bone beads. A thick fur hooded cloak hung heavy around her shoulders, and the amulet Linnras had left for her rested on her bosom.

A tall Argonian with sizable spikes atop his head stepped forward from the crowd. His gaze raked over the form of the fur-clad, petite young woman in front of him. The villagers of Ivarstead began to join the crowd, most of them having seen and heard the crowd of people and the single red dragon that did not attack them.

"What in Oblivion was  _that_!?" the Argonian exclaimed, pointing west to where Odahviing had flown, from where they had fled.

"Oh, the dragons?" Nehenarah nodded her head west. "That's just my army. We're retaking Falkreath Hold from the Thalmor. My father's army arrives in a day or so."

"Army?" The Argonian asked, confused. "Dragons?"

"Yes, an army of dragons." Nehenarah shrugged off her fur cloak and folded it over her arm. "I told them not to burn the village surrounding the citadel but just in case, we… escorted you here."

" _Escorted_?" An angry Dunmer woman stepped forward through the tightly-packed crowd facing Nehenarah. "We were scared out of our wits!" The woman made to attack Nehenarah with her clenched fists but two Dunmer men held her back.

"I apologize for the ferocity of the evacuation. There was no other way." Nehenarah turned to the Argonian who first spoke. "How were the Thalmor treating you at Helgen? Are there any more of you inside the citadel?"

"We had food rations," the Argonian shrugged. "We were all kicked out of the city center and given materials to make tents with. Not good, but not horrible, either."

"The  _Dunmer_  are not at war with the Thalmor!" the same pugnacious Dunmer woman hollered.

"The Thalmor are at war with Time itself," Nehenarah snapped at the Dunmer woman. "Do you live within the boundaries of  _Time_?"

The Dunmer woman stared at Nehenarah. "Well, of course, but…."

"Do you wish to return outside of Time? Destroy Nirn and Mundus in order to return to a god-like state of being in Aurbis?" Nehenarah's hands were on her hips.

"What? No, I—"

"Then you  _are_ at war with the Thalmor. You're welcome." Nehenarah donned her fur cloak, turned behind her and Shouted a burst of fire into the sky, then turned back to the crowd. "Someone will let you know when it is safe to return to Helgen."

In mere moments, Odahviing landed, quaking the ground near the crowd. The dragon Shouted a binding spell, Nehenarah climbed on, and then flew off, leaving a yet-stunned crowd of onlookers.

* * *

"Fjornir?" Brynjarr called quietly from several line formations back.

The Dragonborn turned and smiled at the young man, and waved him forward.

After cleansing the embassy of all Thalmor and ensuring no Tongues were there alive or dead, the armies headed south to the north-west border of Falkreath Hold. They would reach the border the following afternoon if they wanted to head directly into battle after marching, but Fjornir planned for them to camp just south of Rorikstead and break camp just before sunrise. The sun would rise as they approached the Hold border, which should be cleared of defenses by then.

Fjornir tussled Brynjarr's blonde hair, shaking the young man's head not-so-gently. It was about as friendly as Fjornir ever got with the young man who he had, not all that long ago, found naked with his sixteen-year-old daughter.

"What can I do for ya, 'B?" Fjornir only recently started to use Nehenarah's nickname for the new Companion. "How's your father, by the way? You never mentioned why you had to go to Windhelm."

Thrown off his freshly mustered wave of courage by the question, Brynjarr took a moment to answer. "Father's fine. Everyone's fine, there."

"Good, good. Did you, um, mention to Ulfric about Bera and Dez?" Fjornir scratched his chin nervously.

"No, no, I didn't. There were other matters to talk about." Brynjarr didn't want to specify, not just then. He also left out the bit about Hungeirr trying to have him killed, considering he had heard that the young man and his entire family had been murdered, anyway.

"What matters?" Fjornir asked.

 _Shit_ , Brynjarr cursed at himself. "Oh, well, uh, first, I need to tell… no, ask you something."

As they walked, Fjornir looked over at the young man and smiled, then laughed when Brynjarr neglected to say anything, instead blushing and looking away, clearly nervous. "Shor's stones, boy, what is it?"

It was then Brynjarr noticed that Aela, Farkas, Vilkas, Ria, Lydia, and several other Companions around them were in earshot. "I… um…." Brynjarr looked the other way and caught Farkas's eye. The man winked at him, knowing full well what Brynjarr was going to ask Fjornir. "I wanted…," he looked back at Fjornir, "I wanted your permission to ask Nehenarah to marry me."

Fjornir stopped walking, and the rest of the army followed, line-by-line, around and behind them. The Dragonborn stared at Brynjarr, trying to figure out if he had heard the young man correctly. When he decided he had, he started walking again, with Brynjarr and the rest of the soldiers following. Nehenarah's father was silent for what seemed to Brynjarr an infinitely long moment, but eventually spoke.

"You're too young to get married," was all he said.

Brynjarr felt the phantom iron fist grabbing his throat ease its grip. "But to be  _promised_  to be married. I don't think we're too young for that." He looked at Fjornir while they walked. The man's gaze stayed on the fields in front of them.

Another agonizing moment passed between the men. Those marching near them pretended not to listen.

"My wife always thought you two would end up together," Fjornir said softly, neglecting to add the fear they had once shared about Nehenarah's wifely status to an unknown voice.

"As did I," Brynjarr admitted in a quiet, hopeful voice. Fjornir wasn't saying no, and that was enough for Brynjarr to cling to. "I gave her my bracelet."

"The one with the bead." Fjornir exhaled slowly. "I know." He wondered if Brynjarr knew the whole story behind the bead.

"Then you know how much I love her." Brynjarr swallowed hard. He wasn't being as humble as he had told himself to be.

Fjornir gazed into the distance, not saying a word.

March. March. March.

The laughter that broke the silence between the men was unexpected from everyone within earshot. Fjornir stopped walking again, turned to Brynjarr, and hugged him as tightly as possible against his dragonbone armor.

Aela caught a glimpse of Fjornir's face. Her Harbinger was crying. From happiness. "We should keep marching, Harbinger," she prodded, not bothering to veil her annoyance.

Fjornir laughed and cried for a few more moments, and eventually loosened his hold on Brynjarr's body. One arm remained tight around Brynjarr's shoulder when Fjornir began to walk again. He cleared his throat, and laughed a few more times while he wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"Ohh, Brynjarr," Fjornir sighed through another laughing sob. "Of course you can ask her. You didn't need to ask for my permission, but I appreciate the gesture. Eirin would have slapped me clear to Oblivion if I had said no, anyway."

Brynjarr's muscles slowly relaxed and he eventually managed a smile. "Thank you, Fjornir."

"No problem. In fact, if 'Narah says no, I'll talk some sense into her. You're a good lad; she could do a lot worse."

"Th-thanks?..." Brynjarr breathed a confused chuckle. "Um, there's something else you should know, though."

"Oh? What's that?" Fjornir looked at Brynjarr. "Did you  _already_  ask her?"

"Huh? No, no. She left for High Hrothgar and I'd only seen her once, since. I…. Well, I'm not going to ask her the moment I see her for the first time in months. I just wanted you to know my intentions. And…." Brynjarr sighed. "I hope what I'm about to tell you doesn't change your opinion on the matter."

Fjornir made a vaguely disapproving face and dropped his arm from around the young man's shoulders. "Just tell me, B'."

"Iiii… am…  _officially_ , now…," Brynjarr tip-toed over his words initially, but when Fjornir glared at him to make quick with the rest of the sentence, Brynjarr voiced every word in quick succession. "I am the second-in-line to the throne of Skyrim."

Fjornir stumbled in his pace, but kept on walking, staring down at the young man. "What?"

"Behind Princess Bera. Ulfric wanted another heir, and I am his husband's son…. Ulfric adopted me."

Fjornir continued to stare. "You do realize that Bera has voiced her lack of desire to be Queen. Though, she's only twelve, and her position might change…."

Brynjarr frowned slightly. "Yes, I'm aware."

"So, really, what you're asking me… is if it's alright that you ask Nehenarah to be Queen someday…."

"Yes, exactly."

"Ha!" Fjornir exhaled, amused at the ironic turn of events. "You know, it's quite possible that I'm the bastard son of King Istlod."

Now it was Brynjarr's, and everyone else's in earshot, turn to be shocked. Several soldiers and Companions stumbled in their rhythmic marching, but righted themselves quickly.

" _Fjornir_ …," Aela's gasping, accusatory tone caught the Dragonborn's attention.

"What?" he said, turning to his old friend, not missing a step. "It's true. Well, maybe. We have no way of knowing. It's just one woman's word against the world's."

Brynjarr was lost in thought for a moment, but eventually asked, "So, that means, that… technically… 'Narah is the rightful High Queen?"

"Eh," Fjornir shrugged, "what is 'rightful'? Istlod's son was killed in a challenge won by Ulfric. The Moot granted Ulfric the title of High King. That's the only right I'm aware of in place, right now. I wouldn't go blabbing about this to Ulfric, anyway. We don't know it's true, and who knows what Ulfric would think." He turned to Brynjarr. "Does he know whom you intend to marry?"

"Yes. After he gave me a ring to give to… someone deserving… he asked if I had anyone in mind. I suppose my father had spoken of her and me to him."

"Well, B'," Fjornir wrapped an arm around the man again and they awkwardly walked on, "King or not, I'd be happy to have you marry my firstborn child, conduit of Akatosh, savior of dragons, and whatever other important roles she's acquired since I last saw her. And I know Eirin would be, too."

Brynjarr smiled, though was becoming increasingly uncomfortable walking while slightly bent to his side.

"I just hope Akatosh approves," Fjornir grinned.

Brynjarr's body jerked. "What?"


	20. The Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter Soundtrack: Ellie Goulding "Explosions", Within Temptation "Stand My Ground", Bjorn Kleinhenz "Down", Sleeping At Last "Light", Mat Kearney "All I Need", Fever Ray "If I Had A Heart"]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. These last few chapters are taking forever to write. Stupid real life....

 

Fjornir and his army approached the northwestern gate leading into Falkreath Hold shortly after the break of dawn. The smoke could be seen from quite a distance. Dragons could be seen circling the sky to the southeast and to the south. Fjornir and his army of Companions, Redguards, Stormcloaks, Nord warriors and battlemages stopped to rest at the western edge of Lake Ilinalta.

After a dragon scout had spotted Fjornir's army, it informed Odahviing who then flew with Nehenarah upon his back to meet and instruct Fjornir. From the lake, the army was to head south around the lake and on to the town of Falkreath where the majority of the Thalmor army in Skyrim still stood. Hundreds upon hundreds of Thalmor occupied the area in and around the small southern town, and reports came in to Odahviing that thousands of Thalmor occupied lands south of the mountains.

When Odahviing arrived to greet Fjornir the previous evening south of Rorikstead, Brynjarr had been nervous. He knew that there was a chance Nehenarah would come with the dragon to greet her father and his army, and he was right. Nehenarah and her father had exchanged a solemn hug, and as they embraced, Brynjarr approached them. He waited silently and patiently for Nehenarah to break away from her father, and yet feared the moment she realized he was standing there, waiting to greet her.

Brynjarr daydreamed of this moment while on the march south, and indeed many times before that. He wanted to run up to Nehenarah, embrace her, kiss her passionately and never let her go. Faced with the opportunity, however, Brynjarr did none of these things, and stood as shy as he was the day he realized he loved her, petrified from the fear of Nehenarah not returning his affections.

He watched as Nehenarah slipped her arms away from her father. Brynjarr could see the slight smirk on Fjornir's face as he tried to contain his emotions. Brynjarr wondered what Fjornir felt at that moment - pride, perhaps, and maybe a little fear. But mostly, Brynjarr thought he saw happiness in Fjornir's expression. Despite the potential destruction of Fjornir, his army, his family and indeed all of Skyrim, Fjornir was happy.

Nehenarah finally turned to Brynjarr and smiled. But the young man saw something in her smile that belied the expression – something more than mere sadness, he thought, but more along the lines of desolation, and perhaps guilt. He knew that look. Nehenarah had often wanted to give up on many things during their childhood, claiming that success was futile. She would cry, pronounce defeat, and never speak of the incident again. Brynjarr was confused by the look, since all the news from Odahviing had been positive. The Thalmor were falling elf by elf, keep by keep. There was no reason to cry, and yet Brynjarr saw tears forming in her eyes.

Brynjarr approached Nehenarah but did not move to embrace her. She stepped toward him slowly, smiling through her tears. When her arms wrapped around his dirt-stained neck, she sobbed openly. Neither of them spoke for the duration of the embrace. Fjornir and the others nearby dispersed to allow the two young ones to have some privacy. When Nehenarah finally let go of Brynjarr, Odahviing spoke words in dragonspeak to her, to which she said, "I know." She entwined the fingers of one hand with Brynjarr's, smiled, and walked with him a short distance away from the temporary camp.

Nehenarah found a boulder suitable for sitting and invited Brynjarr to join her on the mossy surface. The two remained silent until Brynjarr noted, "You still wear the bead." He reached to the bracelet he had given her and slowly spun the bone cylinder, tickling the flesh of Nehenarah's wrist.

"Of course I still wear it," she replied. "I told you, I will never take it off."

Brynjarr moved his hand up from her wrist slowly, feeling the contours of her arm until his palm rested against the nape of her neck. Moving in to kiss Nehenarah used to be simple for Brynjarr, at least after his initial fumbles, but the unease he previously felt had returned. His fingers tangled in the short hairs at the back of her head. He was nervous, very nervous. All the intimate nights he had shared with Yri and memory of the night he lost his virginity haunted him, and guilt stabbed him in the gut like a jagged dagger.

He had often wondered what it would be like to face Nehenarah again. In his mind their reunion would have have been full of happy tears and kissing, and perhaps he would have finally made love to her. Instead, Nehenarah appeared just as nervous as he was. He wondered about the reasons for this, but reminded himself he had no right to question what Nehenarah may or may not have done while they were apart. He doubted she would have had an affair with any of the ancient Greybeards or the middle-aged Tongues he had learned were training her at High Hrothgar, but the way Nehenarah was acting in that moment made him wonder.

Brynjarr inhaled deeply, and with the same gumption he mustered the night he first pressed his lips against those of his best friend, he lifted Nehenarah's chin between his thumb and fingers with one hand, and pulled her to him with the other. Nehenarah's lips remained still for a moment, but slowly, Brynjarr felt her relax. Soon enough, their lips moved against one another's, parting occasionally to let in an exploring tongue. Brynjarr felt his arousal building along with his bravado and increased the intensity of his embrace.

This time, Nehenarah was the one to break away from their shared passion.

"I can't stay," she said in quiet, demure voice.

"Why not?" Brynjarr asked.

"Odahviing's orders."

"But why?"

Nehenarah shook her head. "I don't know. I guess he wants me rested."

Brynjarr smiled. His thumbs caressed his love's blushing cheeks. "Smart dragon."

"He is. He's basically my second-in-command." Nehenarah laughed. "How odd, the thought…. But he has been a great strategist so far. I don't want to go against his suggestions." Nehenarah dropped her gaze to Brynjarr's armor. "This is new," she said, tracing the lines of the cuirass with a fingertip.

"From your father."

"Really? Why?"

"He felt bad about that night. You know…."

Nehenarah blushed, and then laughed. "Ah. Yes…." She laughed again. "I suppose he has calmed down, finally."

"He has. I think he actually likes me now…."

"He's always liked you, B'. What's not to like?"

"Stealing away his firstborn," Brynjarr smirked when he tapped the tip of Nehenarah's nose.

Nehenarah narrowed her eyes and gave Brynjarr a questioning look. "Who's stealing me? It's not stealing if I go to you willingly." She leaned forward and gave Brynjarr a quick kiss on the lips.

The pair smiled at one another, refamiliarizing themselves the feel of each other's features against their palms until a loud crack of thunder jolted them out of their shared tranquil moment.

"A storm?" Brynjarr asked.

"No, that's my signal," Nehenarah said before standing. "It's Odahviing calling me." She reached forward and grasped Brynjarr's wrists with her hands, pulling him to his feet, and then immediately pulling him to her for one final embrace. Reluctantly, Nehenarah pushed Brynjarr away. "Walk me to him?"

Brynjarr took Nehenarah's hand in his and they walked to a nearby clearing. A dark shadow circled around them and grew bigger as Odahviing came in for a landing. The moons were both nearly full that night, and Brynjarr took in the sight of the ancient dragon up close. His scales were blood-red and his wings were somewhat tattered. Enormous spikes lined his back and horns decorated his skull.

Brynjarr knew if he didn't know Odahviing was an ally, he would have shit himself. At that moment, his respect for Fjornir grew to infinite levels, even though he thought them insurmountable previously.

Nehenarah placed a palm against Brynjarr's cheek and pulled him away from his distraction to kiss him once more before approaching Odahviing. The dragon Shouted the binding words onto Nehenarah before she climbed onto his neck. Without words, Nehenarah and Brynjarr said their farewells, each hoping that no matter what happened in the following days, they would see each other again.

After the army's brief rest by the lake, they continued south toward the Hold capital. As the army marched south, dragons were seen circling above the town, breathing dragon-fire as they swooped lower. Fjornir brought his army to a halt when he spotted ramparts on the horizon. The Thalmor had fortified the town of Falkreath. Fjornir was prepared for this, as were the dragons, and the Dragonborn watched as dragon-fire continued to light up gleaming, armored elves like mobile lanterns. He wondered how many Thalmor there were if the dragons were still attacking the stronghold, since the onslaught likely started hours before his army arrived.

As Fjornir continued to watch the dragons attack the town, he spotted Odahviing approaching. From the sky, the ancient dragon spoke a single word: " _Krif."_

Fight. It was the agreed-upon signal for Fjornir to advance his army and attack.

Fjornir's commands vibrated around him. Troop leaders echoed his commands, and soon the entire army was on the move. Archers had taken to the rear of the formation while the few battlemages dotted the flanks. Redguard men and women were interspersed with Stormcloak and Nord soldiers while the Companion veterans lead the recruits.

As the army drew nearer, Thalmor infantry emerged from the walled town and attacked without any semblance of a strategy. Archers and battlemages picked off most of the charging elves easily, but dozens more emerged from the now-destroyed gate. No archers remained on the ramparts, and for this Fjornir thanked Akatosh.

The Drain Magicka Shout, used prior to Fjornir's arrival by Nehenarah, seemed to last a relatively long time. The golden-colored elven armor of the Thalmor did not shimmer in a turquoise hue, and the though strong, the elven armor proved to be no match for a pummeling warhammer, mace or sword.

Few of Fjornir's soldiers fell, and the Thalmor soldiers ceased advancing. Troops were ordered into the town to inspect buildings and search for hidden underground passageways while the rest of the army inspected the wounded, buried the fallen, ate a light meal, and rested. Nehenarah Healed the wounded one by one, never tiring nor her magic waning.

Aela and a small troop headed southwest toward the passage to Hammerfell. The massive gate erected there dwarfed the northern gates, but dragons had destroyed it all the same. During the attack, one dragon had fallen, and Aela sent a soldier to tell Fjornir. They waited for the Dragonborn to arrive. Aela was curious to watch the process of Fjornir absorbing a dragon's soul into his own, something she'd never personally witnessed. The moment Fjornir approached the dragon's body, a pale gold light began to swirl around him. Aela stood near the dragon, but the other soldiers stepped back. Fjornir knelt before the beast and closed his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled slowly and deliberately, forcing his expression to remain calm. Aela could see the faint signs of discomfort, though – clenched hands, furrowed brow, tightened jaw muscles. When the light faded, Fjornir relaxed, and stood.

"Does it hurt as much as shifting?" Aela asked her old friend quiet enough for none of the other soldiers to hear.

Fjornir smiled. Aela watched the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepen. "It depends on the dragon. The older, the more it hurts. This one was young." The Dragonborn turned to look southwest along the pass. "The first time is always the hardest. So, similar, I suppose."

"And when you killed the World-Eater?"

"I didn't absorb Alduin's soul. It just… vanished. We were in Sovngarde though, so…. I suppose that could mean any number of things. Perhaps I sent him outside of time. No one knows for sure."

Aela reached to her side to gently grasp Fjornir's hand. "It still saddens me that I will not see you in the eternal hunting grounds."

Fjornir turned, leaned down, and kissed Aela's forehead before grazing a play-punch against her chin. "You will have Skjor and your mother, among others. And what's this talk of the after-life, anyway? Do you plan on leaving the Companions so soon?"

Aela removed her hand from Fjornir's and frowned. "Hircine has sent me dreams." The huntress neglected to elaborate. She returned her gaze down the pass toward Hammerfell, and then turned back to Fjornir. "How long do we rest?" she asked.

"Not long. We march to Fort Neugrad after Helgen is secured. Then, Pale Pass."

Aela nodded. The sound of a dragon roaring drew their eyes to the sky. Three dragons flew nearer from over Hammerfell, and kept on flying over the small troop toward the west, toward Helgen and the Pale Pass.

"Good," Fjornir said. "No Thalmor were spotted in northern Hammerfell."

"What about southern Hammerfell? Do we just leave this pass unguarded?" Aela asked.

"Hammerfell did not send their entire population of soldiers to our shores." Fjornir started walking back to the southern border of the town of Falkreath. "If there are Thalmor in Hammerfell, the Redguards can take care of them themselves for the time being."

* * *

Helgen fell easily. Though transformed into a citadel, the continual dragon onslaught weakened portions of the defensive walls, causing the Thalmor to retreat inside. Fjornir's troops dispersed into the various buildings with groups of infantry joined with one battlemage, and archers and dragons waited outside to pick off any fleeing Thalmor.

As the taking of Helgen continued, dragon scouts and Odahviing, with Nehenarah, flew south over the Jerall Mountains to Cyrodiil. Nehenarah saw the gleaming metal immediately. Spread across the northern, mountainous landscape were Thalmor in elven armor camped in groups. Nothing but snow, tents, and Thalmor dotted the landscape – not even trees. The Thalmor had turned northern Cyrodiil into a wasteland.

The report of thousands of Thalmor was not a lie. Nehenarah strained to see more detail, and thought she saw the faces of the elves looking skyward at their winged visitors. The Dragon Child wondered if the elves knew what was happening in Falkreath.  _Surely the Thalmor would have sent scouts north of the border_ , she thought. She returned her gaze to the fortified gate that blocked Pale Pass and was confused at what she saw. Behind the gate was a large stone circle, wide enough to serve as a house for at least one family. Nothing was inside the stone circle but dirt, however.

She had seen enough. With her heel, she kicked Odahviing on the neck – her signal to land. Odahviing swerved and headed back north, and the dragon scouts followed.

* * *

Eirin was visiting with Haming and her grandchildren in Breezehome. Mila had just given birth to a little boy.

"Baenir," Mila mewed softly at her pink, sleeping newborn.

"A good name," Eirin said.

"The Divines were listening." Haming beamed with delight.

"Aren't you glad Fjornir told you to stay?" Eirin elbowed her nephew whom she adopted almost two decades ago.

"Yeah, yeah," Haming replied. He smoothed his hand over his son's soft brown tuft of hair. "I'll make sure to wait until Baenir's older to tease him that I missed out on the war to save the world just so I could see him when he looked like a sunburnt old man."

"Haming…," Mila would have kicked her husband if she could.

"I'm just kidding," said Haming, smiling. "If we can't win the war with all those soldiers and dragons and Fjornir, one more Companion won't make a difference."

Eirin felt her stomach flip, but fought the urge to vomit.

Rolf and Lara, Haming and Mila's little ones, had woken from their nap and toddled into the master bedroom. They approached their parent's bed with caution.

Eirin scooped little Baenir into her arms and knelt down before the children. "Want to meet your little brother?" Eirin whispered.

* * *

Fort Neugrad had been deserted, and no more Thalmor were spotted in the area by dragon scouts. The dragon army, led by Odahviing, flew ahead of the mortal men and women to assault the southern border. Odahviing had left Nehenarah at the army camp to rest. When she asked Odahviing why this night was different, why she did not have to go to High Hrothgar again, the dragon answered with a simple word: " _Elskah_." Nehenarah knew perfectly well what the word meant, but had no idea what Odahviing meant by saying it. She shrugged the confusion off her shoulders and set out to find her father and Brynjarr.

As the army settled for the evening wherever they found space on the rocky terrain of the Jerall Mountains, Fjornir, Aela, Farkas, Ria, Vilkas and Lydia, and Brynjarr and Nehenarah sat in silence in a circle, watching their dinner roast over a spitfire. Aela had taken down a large mountain goat which was dispersed amongst the camp, and other hunters added their own game to the army's meal.

After the group finished their meal, Fjornir finally broke the silence. "So tell me, Farkas. Are you and Ysolda still… trading merchant secrets?"

The other Companions snickered at Fjornir's question. Farkas only growled.

"No. She's gone too damn often with the cats," Farkas answered before taking a swig of mead from his canteen.

"Prefers cats over dogs, then, I suppose?" Ria joked.

Farkas glared at his long-time friend. She was sitting next to Lydia, who caught his eye. Nearly two decades had passed, and it still hurt to look at his ex-lover. Farkas stood from the circle and stomped off into the darkness.

"What's gotten into him?" Brynjarr asked the group.

Lydia didn't answer.

"Hungry for a different kind of meat," Aela answered. She could smell the frustration and desire on her friend. She looked to Fjornir. "Harbinger, may we speak alone for a moment?"

"Of course," Fjornir answered, and stood. He followed Aela into a large tent that served as the Circle's sleeping quarters.

In a lowered voice, Aela spoke her mind. "I think the pack should shift tomorrow."

Fjornir stared blankly at his friend. "When, exactly? I don't know how the rest of the army will react to that kind of scene…"

Aela folded her arms over her chest. "There will be a moment, sometime during the battle tomorrow at the border, when our wolves will want to break free. The sun will be in the third quadrant."

"Third quadrant…," Fjornir stroked his beard.  _The afternoon,_  he thought.  _A long battle is ahead of us._  "This is coming from Hircine?"

"It is," Aela replied.

"Do Farkas and Ria know about this vision of yours?"

Aela shook her head. "I don't think so. I never spoke of it, and they haven't said anything about having their own visions. Look, Farkas may need your approval, even if you're no longer one of us, and I don't want him to wait for it when the time comes."

"Why didn't you say so sooner?"

"I fear just as much as you friendly fire, but I feel more than ever now that the urge to shift will not be contained. Something may trigger it, I'm not sure."

"What could trigger a shift?"

Aela shook her head. "I don't know. A spell, maybe?"

Fjornir raised his arms above his head and cradled the back of his head in his palms. He huffed out a sigh, and then lowered his arms. "Alright. I'll go find Farkas and speak to him. Do you want to come with? Explain this to him yourself?"

"No. Don't tell him about the dreams, either. Just tell him if he feels the urge to shift tomorrow to not fight it. I will tell the same to Ria."

Fjornir nodded. "Anything else?"

Aela smirked, and stepped forward. She stood on the tips of her toes and briefly kissed Fjornir's cheek. "Good hunting," she whispered before leaving the tent.

* * *

Brynjarr and Nehenarah settled in a large tent along with Rik, Agata, and other similarly-ranked Companions. Their peers Naefi and Geirr, however, had disappeared with the twins Thyri and Yri. They all knew why, but said nothing.

Brynjarr and Nehenarah were snuggling on their combined bedrolls. Their arms and fingers intertwined and their bodies kept each other warm. They conversed quietly about their childhood, food, mudcrabs – everything except the details of their lives since the day he first kissed her. He wanted badly to tell her about Windhelm, Ulfric and his father, and to give her the ring he wore on a necklace against his chest, but he knew this was not the time. They both needed their rest, and thoughts of happier times would comfort them enough to fall asleep.

During the night, Agata slipped out of the tent unnoticed. In a clearing concealed by trees and bushes laden with snow, she embraced her lover, who had been waiting for her. She ran her hands over the soft snow bear fur cloak that enshrouded her lover's lithe body. Their lips pressed firmly against one another's, each of them well aware that this embrace may be their last.

Too cold to disrobe, the pair awkwardly slid a hand down the other's trousers. Agata's fingers found the warm and welcoming center of her lover's pleasure, and felt her own being expertly teased. The sensation of their lips and tongues touching distracted Agata from the intensity of her lover's lower touch, and in moments she shook in her climax, knees nearly giving out beneath her. It took longer for her lover to find release, but when she did, she had to bite down on Agata's fox pelt cloak to refrain from crying out. Agata held onto her lover until her body stilled, and her breath slowed.

Agata began to cry, and then felt a palm press onto her cheek.

"Don't cry, pup," Aela whispered. "You will be glorious tomorrow."

The fierceness of Aela's final kiss stunned Agata, and her tears stopped.

* * *

Voldsea Giryon and her small band of Dark Brothers and Sisters, no longer dressed as Thalmor soldiers but clad their red-and-black stealth gear, left the docks outside of Wayrest in High Rock and slithered their way onto The Katariah in the dead of night. Somewhere upon this ship, Voldsea knew that the self-exiled Emperor of Tamriel, Titus Mede II, was cowering in modest comfort, hiding from the growing Thalmor threat. Though he had been betrayed by the Aldmeri Dominion, he was yet unwilling to lend his meager supply of soldiers to the war between the Thalmor and the rest of Nirn.

In the shadows of the ship, the members of the Dark Brotherhood silently took out the crew of sailors and Imperials soldiers, inching their way to the Emperor. Kyrimon released a simple Detect Life spell, and spotted only one glowing, red aura. He looked to Voldsea and nodded in the direction of the ornate double doors which likely stood as the last barrier between the Brotherhood and the end of an Empire.

The group stood back to give the Listener sole access to the final blow. Voldsea inserted the key she had looted from the ship's captain, and the lock clicked open. When she opened the door, the Emperor was sitting calmly at his dining table, munching on an apple.

As Voldsea drew the string of her ebony bow to her lips, the Emperor smiled.

* * *

As Fjornir's army approached the gentle hill that led to the gate to Pale Pass, Fjornir noticed the gate was not in flames, nor was it closed. The gate was wide open, as if the Thalmor were welcoming them into Cyrodiil. Fjornir brought his army to a halt. He waited for Odahviing to return with Nehenarah, who had left before sunrise with the dragon.

When Nehenarah finally arrived, she slid off of Odahviing and ran to embrace her father. "It's almost over," she said with a grin, "the dragons are taking down the Thalmor troops camped to the south."

Fjornir returned his daughter's smile, but he knew that the end was nowhere near. The sun had only just risen.

The army stood in rank, watching the gate for signs of movement, or a signal from the dragons for them to advance. After not seeing anything, most grew restless, and began quiet conversations with their neighbors. Brynjarr advanced out of formation to stand next to Nehenarah and Fjornir, and the three of them talked quietly.

The flash of purple-blue by the entrance of the gate took Fjornir and his army by surprise. Their gazes were met not by an empty gate, but by a troop of a dozen Thalmor. And then another, and another. Flashes of purple-blue light gave way to dozens of Thalmor soldiers. Without any warning other than appearing, the first Thalmor troop advanced, weapons raised and armor gleaming turquoise. Fire magic and ice spears flew in the direction of Fjornir's army.

Immediately, Fjornir Shouted Drain Magicka, and his army advanced.

Nehenarah stood still as the flood of Companions, Nords, Redguards, Stormcloaks and battlemages stormed passed her. Her father and Brynjarr had been on the front line.

As she watched the entire army advance and clash with the elves, she felt a flash of heat at her back. Before she could turn to see what it was, she felt strong hands grip her arm.

Nehenarah saw only white.


	21. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter Soundtrack: Ellie Goulding "Figure 8", Imagine Dragons "Nothing Left to Say", Jason Walker "Kiss Me", Barcelona "Get Up", Skylar Grey "Coming Home – Part II"]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took an age to finish. I've been enraptured by my other story "Hero by Mistake", and, well, I'm a grad student. Sigh! But here it is, the next chapter. After this I will be writing a series of epilogues, so, nearly done now.

 

The Thalmor soldiers kept coming through what Fjornir guessed must have been some sort of portal. Infantry, archers and battlemages came by the dozen, the latter two groups taking positions on the hills surrounding the Skyrim side of the gate. Men and women on both sides of the battle fell. Fjornir's Drain Magicka Shout proved most useful, however, in taking down the elves. The casualties on the Thalmor's side outnumbered Fjornir's three to one, but every few minutes more elves came through the portal, fresh and ready to fight whereas Fjornir and his army grew more tired as the morning passed.

No one noticed when the Dragon Child disappeared.

* * *

Nehenarah's eyes were squeezed shut. The bright white light stung her eyes, and through closed eyelids she saw the dark pink-red of blood and flesh illuminated by her surroundings. She heard noises she couldn't define and anxiously waited for the bright light to fade.

"Hello!?" she shouted. "Father? Brynjar!?" She was on her hands and knees, she realized, and suddenly felt grass tickle her fingers, and then the world fell silent. The light began to fade, signaled by seeing black rather than pink-red, and slowly lifting her eyelids, looking down, she adjusted to her surroundings. Grass. Green grass, and no snow.

It was only then that Nehenarah realized she no longer heard the din of battle. No sound but her own heartbeat invaded her ears.

Her neck jerked up and she looked forward. Nothing. Nothing as far as she could see but green grass and the occasional clump of flowers and solitary tree. In the far distance she saw mountains. When she looked up, she saw that the sky was a solid blue dome without the hint of a cloud. There was no sun.

"What the…?" She stood, testing her footing to make sure her body wasn't broken. She looked to the sky again to make sure the sun just wasn't hidden behind anything, but her eyes were not deceiving her. Though no sun lit the land, the unending meadow and outlines of mountains were illuminated as if it were high noon.

When she started for the nearest tree, she felt the same burst of heat at her back she had felt on the battlefield. When she turned, she nearly fell backwards at the sight. A looming, fiery golden dragon appeared out of nowhere.

"Akatosh?" she whispered.

" _Geh_ ," the Ghost Man's familiar voice answered in Nehenarah's mind.

"What happened?" She took a step toward the dragon, and then another. "Where am I? There's  _no sun_ …."

Smoke puffed from the dragon's nostrils as Akatosh laughed. The laughter continued for longer than Nehenarah thought necessary, but soon the dragon began to shimmer and glow bright yellow, and became nearly translucent. The fiery gold glow began to shift, and soon took the form of a familiar figure. A familiar figure with bronze skin, long auburn dreadlocks, bright gold-yellow eyes, and wearing scant leather armor.

Nehenarah's eyes went wide. " _Linnras!?_ " she yelled, though not from surprise or shock. She had believed her mentor and companion to have been Akatosh for some time. Rather, she yelled because she was angry.

Linnras continued to laugh as Nehenarah pounded the earth beneath her feet, stomping towards the god-man. With raised fists, she pummeled the laughing god-man.

"You fucker!" Another fist, another, and again she struck the man's chest and shoulders. The young woman beating her tiny fists against Akatosh's most recent human avatar only managed to tickle him, increasing his laughter to a near howl.

"Stop, stop, I can't," Linnras Tyraevi pleaded, "it tickles."

"What the fuck!" she began to kick his bare shins. "Where am I!? What happened to my father!? The ARMY!?"

Linnras's laughter dimmed to a chuckle and he managed to successfully grab a hold of Nehenarah's wrists and his own breath. Her feet, however, remained free to kick.

" _GANOG!"_  Linnras's, or rather Akatosh's voice thundered from the avatar's chest, shaking the earth beneath Nehenarah's feet. He had had enough.

She froze, fur-booted foot mid-air, and stared at the god-man, eyes indeed wide with shock that time. She planted her foot back down onto the grass and then stood tall in front of Linnras as if awaiting orders. The god-man loosed his grip on her wrists and let them drop to the young woman's sides.

Linnras cleared his throat. "I apologize if I scared you," he said in a normal, human tone.

" _Scared_  me!?" Nehenarah repeated, mouth open in preparation for her tirade. "You…  _lied._ You  _left_. And now….  _Now_ , you… bring me…." Words were not her strong point at that moment. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE!?" she asked again in a pitch just short of a squeal.

" _Dovahpraan_ ," Linnras said with a smile.

Nehenarah blinked, silent for a moment. "Dragon Rest?"

"Yup."

"What in Oblivion is Dragon Rest?"

"Where dragon's rest. Well, where their souls rest.  _Not_  Oblivion, but a realm in Aetherius."

Nehenarah blinked again. "I'm  _dead_!?"

"Ha! No, no," Linnras shook his head, turning from Nehenarah and setting off on a slow stroll across the meadow to nowhere. The young woman followed. "I pulled you from battle. You weren't safe there."

"Odahviing would have come for me if I were in any danger," she declared.

"Yes, he would have. But I told him not to."

Nehenarah jogged up to meet Linnras's side. "You what?"

" _Od Ah Viing_  was needed south of the gate. You are needed alive, and alive here you will stay."

"If I'm not dead then how did I get here?"

"I collected you."

"You mean you snatched me up…."

"Yes."

"To keep me alive?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"What?"

"How long must I stay here?"

Linnras finally stopped walking and turned to the insatiable Dragon Child. "Until there is no longer a threat of death for you on Nirn."

"And… how long will that be?"

The god-man frowned. "That will be determined by your father's actions." He turned to walk again.

The meadow was unending, and no matter where or how far they walked, the distant mountains never appeared any closer. After a few moments of blissful silence, Nehenarah opened her mouth again. "Why did you lie to me?"

"I never lied to you," Linnras asserted.

"Yes you did. You never told me you were  _Akatosh._  Seems like something someone should tell a girl."

"Woman."

"Relatively young human female."

Linnras laughed, and kept walking. "I never lied. You never asked if I was a god."

"You said you were from Akavir. I asked my father about what that was. He said the humans died out there a long time ago."

"They did, sort of. Their culture died." Linnras confirmed.

"Then how can you be from Akavir!?"

"This body is from Akavir."

Nehenarah stopped walking, and Linnras noticed. He stopped, turned, and walked back to her.

"What?" he asked.

"You stole a body?" she said in a hushed voice.

Linnras chuckled. "I assumed the form a long-dead Akaviri man. Don't worry, Ba Niren wasn't using it anymore. But that's not what I meant by being from Akavir."

"What  _did_  you mean?"

"When I first created beings in my image, dragons, their souls lived here." He raised his arms to indicate where they were now. "When I decided to give them a physical form, a body, so that they might enjoy life, they first emerged on Akavir and were able to shift between dragon and human form. Or, well, I say human, but I mean human-like. Scaly humans, kind of like Argonians but golden instead of green. The environment on Akavir was… less than desirable, for various reasons, and so they took flight and found their home in the northern lands such as Skyrim and Atmora. But, upon leaving Akavir, they could no longer assume human form. They never returned, however. Though mortal, my dragons were seen as gods on Nirn, and so they remained in the northern, mountainous lands, quite content, for a while, anyway."

"Sssooo…," Nehenarah continued to walk along with Linnras in the unending meadow, "this body is mortal but… you're… Akatosh…?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Linnras stopped walking again and turned to Nehenarah.

"Why all of this? The body and me and the training!? I never… I barely got to do anything in this war! And we…," Nehenarah looked at the god-man in horror and her voice became a muted whisper, "we  _had sex. A LOT."_

Linnras laughed. "I told you, we couldn't help it."

"You're a god! You can… do anything! I don't believe you. You just wanted…," her jaw dropped open, " _you_  just wanted to _fuck_  a human! And then you disappeared and everyone  _but_  me forgot about you!"

"Oh, that worked, did it?" he smiled.

"STOP SMILING!" Nehenarah screamed. She suddenly felt dizzy, and collapsed to her knees onto the flower-speckled grass. Linnras walked over where she had fallen, and sat on his heels. Holding her forehead in her palm, Nehenarah asked, calmer, "Just tell me why. Why me? What did I have anything to do with this war? Why did you train me…. I spoke with and commanded dragons that could not speak my human tongue, yes, but…. All those Shouts…. All that time I could have been with Brynjarr but I was kept on the top of a mountain, mostly with  _you_." She glared at the god-man.

"You needed to grow up," Linnras said, settling onto the grass on his haunches. "Fast.  _And_ if I hadn't intervened you would have eventually gotten knocked-up by Brynjarr, because eventually you would have convinced him you didn't have to _wait_ , and then you'd have been puking all over Odahviing's back while he flew you around the world."

"You said you knew I wouldn't get pregnant."

"Yes, with me…."

Nehenarah glared at Linnras. "Why  _not_  you?"

"Because I'm a  _god_ , remember?"

Nehenarah hugged her body with her arms and sat in silence, staring at a flower for a good long while. When she finally spoke, she asked, "When  _will_  I get pregnant?"

"Ah-ah,  _rignivahiikke_  …," he said, moving his head side to side.

"SO SPOIL ME," she shouted. "Just tell me. Will it be with Brynjarr?" And then Nehenarah jumped. "Is he alright!? Is Father alright!?"

"Calm down,  _Dovahkiir_ , they're both doing exactly what they're meant to be doing."

"What does that mean!?"

"Don't worry, you'll see them soon enough."

* * *

The sun was at its zenith when the influx of elves waned. Dragons could be heard to the south, beyond the gate, continuing to bombard the Thalmor forces before they could reach the human army.

Two of the battlemages were able to retrieve spent arrows with telekinesis, giving Aela and her archers a nearly endless supply of ammunition. The mages then used Grand Healing spells to rejuvenate as best they could the remaining forces, who despite the mages' efforts grew more and more tired as the day passed.

Brynjarr remained close by Fjornir at all times, as did Farkas, who felt protective over both his Harbinger and his protégé. Farkas caught glimpses of Brynjarr in action and was greatly impressed by the young man's form that not too long ago wasn't anything to write home about.

Both armies were eventually equally matched, and soon the Thalmor numbers began to drop steadily. Still, hundreds of the elves remained, and their armor was hard to breach, even without their Stoneflesh spell. But the army of massive Nords and fierce Redguards aimed high, learning early on that the quickest way to end an elf was to bash its head in or cut it off, helmet and all. The Thalmor's necks and eyes remained their only truly vulnerable spots from afar, however, but Aela's archers aimed small.

* * *

Nehenarah picked a flower and plucked its petals one my one. "I still feel it, you know."

"The pull? Yeah, you would. Here, your inner dragon takes over some of your instincts…."

Pluck. Drop. Pluck. Drop. "Since when do dragons have sexual instincts?"

Linnras laughed. "I should have assumed the form of an old woman, offered to be your nursemaid."

"But you didn't."

"Nope, I didn't."

Pluck. Pinch. Hold. "What did you say the name was of the man whose body you stole?"

"Borrowed."

"Did you ask his permission?"

"He wasn't around to ask."

Nehenarah glared at Linnras. She was good at glaring.

"Ba Niren," he answered. "Some low-ranked soldier, but did well in battle. Until he died."

"Then why did you call yourself Linnras Tyraevi?"

"I'm surprised no one figured that one out. I thought I was being quite clever." He flashed a beaming grin.

Nehenarah waited impatiently, giving Linnras another stare of doom.

"It's four words from the old Nord tongue, spoken before your current language, back when they still lived on Atmora."

Nehenarah glared at Linnras and slow-plucked the last petal off of the flower, then flicked the remaining center and stem at the god-man.

" _Linnr-as_. R, A S. It just means 'dragon god'." The god-man watched Nehenarah as she reacted, but her expression did not change from one of annoyance. He cleared his throat. "Wow, I thought that was pretty clever.  _Tyr-aevi_ , T Y R, A E V I, 'god time'." He watched Nehenarah's still-unchanging expression. "Well, hey, I tried. Not all ideas are winners."

When Nehenarah finished glaring, she asked, "Can I just call you Akatosh, then?"

"You can, although technically speaking I'm not exactly Akatosh."

"What do you mean? You were… a dragon. A fiery dragon."

"Yes, and that's just another embodiment I sometimes take. You like?"

Nehenarah huffed. "If you're not Akatosh then what in… what are you?"

"Oh, I am Akatosh. Or at least, part of him. You didn't think that the  _God of Time_  would be such a simple divinity as to only be able to be in one place at one  _time_ , did you?"

Nehenarah squirmed in her grassy seat. "Where… when else are you?"

"Oh, Nehenarah…," the god-man chuckled, his long dreadlocks creating gentle waves of auburn as he shook his head.

* * *

The sun was still in the second quadrant when the last of the elves fell. Fjornir turned to observe the remnants of his army – still standing strong, with relatively few fallen. All of his Companion friends and all of the battlemages were still alive. With the much-needed break between battles, the Redguard, Stormcloak and Nord armies quickly tended to their fallen comrades.

Fjornir did not notice the dragon coming in to land behind him. The ground shook, and Fjornir turned. It was not Odahviing who stood before him, but Paarthurnax. Though the old dragon had spoken to Fjornir of the possible need for his interference in this war, Fjornir did not expect to see his old friend, not here, and not now. The white-grey dragon tilted his head and spoke one word to the Dragonborn: " _Zahrahmiik_."

Fjornir looked to the gate where no Thalmor stood alive, and then back to the ancient dragon. "Are you sure?" He stared, hoping he misheard the word.

Paarthurnax tilted his head the other way and responded. " _Geh._ "

Fjornir felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Brynjarr bloodied, but alive and smiling. It wasn't his blood that decorated his armor.

"Another friend?" Brynjarr asked, indicating Paarthurnax.

The Dragonborn did not even bother feigning a smile. "Yes. A friend." Fjornir turned to Paarthurnax who remained waiting, ever-patient, for Fjornir to ready himself to fly with him. The Dragonborn then turned back to Brynjarr and embraced the young man, blood and all.

"Woah. What's this for?" Brynjarr laughed through his question.

Fjornir neglected to answer. Instead, he reached around his neck to grab a hold of a leather thong. As he pulled on it and lifted it above his head, Brynjarr saw a large dragonscale, pierced at one end to allow wearing it as a pendant. In a swift movement, Fjornir placed the leather thong around Brynjarr's neck and pressed the dragonscale against the young man's cuirass.

Fjornir cleared his throat. "Give this to Eirin," he said with his hand still upon the hard scale. "Keep my daughter safe. Move everyone out of the mountains. Go, now.  _North!_ " Without giving Brynjarr time to question Fjornir's orders, the Dragonborn kissed Brynjarr on his forehead and turned to Paarthurnax. The dragon Shouted  _FEY BO ZOR_  and enshrouded Fjornir with a silvery aura before the man climbed onto Paarthurnax's neck.

Brynjarr watched as Fjornir flew on the white-grey dragon off to the south without giving him even the slightest of glances. Farkas approached his protégé and asked, "Where's he goin'?" Farkas looked around once more and then added, "And where's your girl gone off to?"

Brynjarr turned to his friend and mentor with a terrified look on his face, unable to speak.

* * *

"What do you mean  _everywhere_?" Nehenarah's face scrunched with her question.

"Everywhere, everywhen. A part of me is here now, with you, in  _Dovahpraan_. A part of me is with your father. Well,  _in_  your father…. Any dragon, or dragon-souled person is part of me, or rather I am a part of them. When your father 'killed' Alduin, my first creation, he only killed him now, not everywhen. Alduin's soul merely returned to Aurbis and will form again in another timeline. His soul is too powerful for a true mortal's body to take unto itself, unlike the other dragons whose souls are now bound to Fjornir's. Did your father tell you about his time in Solstheim? Conquering my first Dragonborn?"

Nehenarah shook her head.

"Well, long story short, my first Dragonborn managed to break the boundaries of time with the help of a Daedra Lord, among other things…. This caused a few… disruptions… with the timely order of things. In any case, along came your father who put an end to this abomination – as I said, not all ideas are winners…. When your father killed my first Dragonborn, he absorbed all of the dragon souls that were within him. Many, many souls. Your father is… very powerful, now. So powerful, it could be argued that he embodies the power of a god."

* * *

Fjornir stood on the highest peak on the Throat of the World. Paarthurnax had left him there after a brief visit to Whiterun, to the Great Porch of Dragonsreach.

The ancient dragon then returned to where he had found the Dragonborn, and called to the dragon army. They were to push south as far as they could the elven army, away from the gate between Skyrim and Cyrodiil.

_Zahrahmiik._ Sacrifice. Fjornir had made the decision quite a while ago. Fjornir knew that if worst came to worst, he could do this for Skyrim, and for Tamriel, and Paarthurnax couldn't disagree that it was for the greater good.

With the help of the ancient dragon, Fjornir developed a new Shout that would move the very ground beneath him at his will. The Shout worked well with rocks and boulders, but Fjornir wasn't intending to kick a few stones around.

In speaking with Paarthurnax, Fjornir realized that he held within him the power of not just one dragon soul, but many. All of the souls of the dragons he'd slain, or those that Miraak the First Dragonborn had slain, were melded with his own soul. All except Alduin's. The thought, Fjornir put forth to Paarthurnax, was that a Dragonborn would be able to use the power of all of these souls at once, if needed, to do something… miraculous. Paarthurnax knew what Fjornir was thinking of – Martin Septim. Fjornir knew of the last Septim heir who sacrificed himself to become the avatar of Akatosh in order to defeat Mehrunes Dagon and close the gates to Oblivion. Fjornir wasn't planning to defeat a Daedra Lord; he was, however, planning to save Skyrim, and with it the world.

Skyrim was no longer kingless or bleeding, Alduin was slain, and the rift created by those who sent Alduin forward in time was closed. The North was defending itself – the last tower would not fall. The Throat of the World, the looming mountain in the center of Skyrim, acted as a pillar of sorts for the entire country, as did other such legendary structures throughout the world. It is said that the destruction of all of these structures, these towers, would lead to the end of Mundus, the end of mortal existence. It is also said that by exterminating humankind, the extremist Thalmor would be able to return to the immortality they so craved. In Fjornir's mind, and Paarthurnax agreed, protecting Skyrim would ensure that many human beings would be left alive, defended, and would further hinder the Thalmor's goal of destroying Nirn.

As Paarthurnax saw it, Fjornir's hypothesis was sound, but only putting their theory to the test would prove them right. As Fjornir gazed down at the town of Whiterun, he thought of his wife, Eirin. Before depositing Fjornir on top of the mountain, Paarthurnax had agreed to bring the Dragonborn to the city in order to say goodbye to his wife. His pregnant wife.

Eirin said she knew, in some way, that something like this was going to happen. She felt it in her bones, she had said. Tears were shed and screams were shared, but they both knew that Fjornir had to try.

All for the greater good.

"If I don't come back," Fjornir said to her while holding her tight on the Great Porch, "name the child Buriis."

"Buriis?" Eirin asked.

Fjornir smiled, and kissed Eirin's salted cheeks before pressing his forehead to hers. "It means 'hope'."

Hope. Fjornir prayed that he was right, that what he was about to do would save the world. Slaying Alduin was never enough, apparently. Alduin was just a stepping stone to Fjornir's real purpose – he understood that now.

The Dragonborn climbed down to the snow-covered flat area just beneath the tallest peak. He walked over to the Word Wall that had been carved into the mountain and engraved by Paarthurnax himself. " _Het mah Herfodr, Shul-Kriid, sahrot konahrik do Lumnaar do Krent Hahnu._ " The ancient dragon remembered the Sun-Slayer fondly, and mourned his death.

Shielded from most of the wind by the Word Wall, Fjornir sat, and prepared. He repeated the words to himself, silently.  _Gol Qeth Kren. Gol Qeth Kren._ Earth Bone Break. He closed his eyes to sense what he had for so long repressed – the souls of the dragons within him. They were there, all thirty-some of them, obedient but angry. He wondered if they would do as he hoped, as he would command them to do, upon their summons.

He could only try.

He imagined beneath him the rock of the mountain reaching down with arms of stone down to the other mountains surrounding the country. To the south and east, these mountain ranges were his targets. The Jerall and Velothi ranges. He would leave alone the hills of the north and already nearly impassible range of the west.

And then he felt them, the earth's bones. The rock. The mountain. His friends the Skaal taught him how to connect with the forces of nature while he was in Solstheim. He felt the vibration of life that the mountain held, and everything connected to it.

It was time.

After internally summoning every dragon soul within him, wrangled by the will of his own, he took one final, deep breath, and with it exhaled, " _GOL QETH KREN."_

* * *

The deafening explosion was heard throughout the country, but Whiterun was hit first. The ground shook and children cried, but the townsfolk were prepared. Fjornir had warned the Jarl that this could happen. Eirin hugged her children tight as they stood out in the open fields to the west of the city, away from possible falling stone or timber. Everyone looked to the mountaintop, and when they saw the golden orb of energy condense and then dissipate, they knew Fjornir had succeeded. The faint rumbling continued for nearly an hour, and even when it stopped, the people remained outside the city walls for a long while, just to be sure the danger was over.

The dragon guardians that stood outside the walls of Whiterun had already fled south by then, having been signaled by Paarthurnax to do so, but Jarl Guvar of Whiterun knew this meant that the immediate danger to his town had passed.

Dezserahhe and Iilahaan knew, but little Kenlaas sitting on Eirin's lap couldn't understand why his mother was crying.

* * *

With Fjornir's last breath, the power of every dragon soul contained within him, including his own, was transferred into the Shout. Earth Bone Break. The energy traveled through the rocky shell of Nirn to the south and the east, as Fjornir had silently commanded. Within minutes, the target mountain ranges began to quake. The people of the Rift, Falkreath and Eastmarch Holds did not know what was happening, but knew of earthquakes and only several unfortunate people were injured in the event.

Ulfric and Ralof felt the quake in their palace, and looked to each other for answers that neither of them had.

* * *

Linnras jerked his head up, looking above Nehenarah. "Ah, there he is, right on time."

"What?" Nehenarah asked while turning around to see who Linnras was talking about. A large figure was hunched over on all fours, just as she had been upon coming into this realm. Long, dark brown-red hair fell over the man's shoulders and stroked the grass. Nehenarah recognized the dragonbone armor. "Father!" she squealed, jumping up and running to the fallen Dragonborn.

"'Narah?" she heard the man grunt as she approached.

"Pa…," she cried, falling to the ground in front of the Dragonborn. Her arms wrapped around the man's neck, not waiting for him to recover from his journey.

That's when the dragons came. One, three, ten, more. Nehenarah lost count as dozens of dragons crashed through the too-perfect blue sky and immediately took to soaring across the blue dome. Their roars were not terrifying, but triumphant. Green, brown, red, black, purple, orange and white-blue, all colors dotted the skies. " _Stin! Stin!"_  they were calling. They were free.

"Nehenarah," Fjornir quietly called to his daughter, his hand gently grasping her shoulder.

The young woman dropped her gaze from the sky to look into her father's grey-green eyes. They looked different to her, somehow. He looked different.

* * *

The ground vibrated as it condensed upon itself. The country of Skyrim was shifting to the south and east, and as a result the mountains grew taller, fiercer, and impenetrable. Gates to Cyrodiil collapsed and were lost to the freshly shorn crags. The process claimed the lives of several mountain-dwelling people and groups. There was no time to warn them. Mountain goats, however, sensing imminent danger, had fled to the lower valleys in time.

The elven warriors were gathering south of the gate to Skyrim where the portal had been placed. Auxiliary forces were coming in from the Summerset Isles and arriving in groups numbering between ten and twenty at a time through the circle of stones. They were met by dragonfire and streams of ice, and a quaking ground. The squadron leaders began to feel panic as they watched the gate collapse and the mountains rise in front of their eyes. Many of them had lived a thousand years and yet had never seen a mountain move but a fingernail's length.

The Thalmor knew defeat when it was presented to them. The portal into Skyrim was likely demolished with the rise of the Jerall Mountains, and the dragons attacking them in Cyrodiil were relentless.

Cramming themselves into the circle of stone, the portal was reopened and group by group they transported themselves back to the Summerset Isles. Several soldiers arrived home on fire or frozen, some dead. Hundreds of the elves frantically tried to return through the portal, most of them in vain.

The only remaining southern passage into Skyrim was now through Hammerfell, and it was guarded by a Thalmor-built stone wall and fortified gate. The passage between Skyrim and High Rock remained, and as always the northern coast was accessible by sea.

The immediate Thalmor threat to Skyrim was removed, however, but only time would tell how long the country and its people would remain safe.

* * *

"Where am I?" Fjornir asked his daughter as he stood.

"We're in… a place called Dragon Rest. It's where the souls of dragons go."

"Souls…," Fjornir looked as if a dragon's tail thwacked him on the chest. "You're dead!?"

"Me? No, no, I…," Nehenarah looked around for Linnras, but the god-man had disappeared. "I was taken here by Akatosh, to stay safe while the battle was being fought." She then studied her father, whose light had seemed to have vanished from his eyes. "But you…." She stepped up close to look at the Dragonborn. "Oh, Father…." She crashed into the man, her hand clamping onto her wrist around the back of Fjornir's neck. "How did you die?" she asked through her tears.

Fjornir sat back down on the grass, and Nehenarah awkwardly climbed onto her father's lap, her arms once again claiming purchase around her father's neck. Fjornir cradled his daughter as he told her of his final sacrifice, the releasing of all the bound dragon souls within him, along with his own in order to move the very ground itself through time, speeding up the process that would have occurred naturally on its own over the course of millennia.

"You sped up time? Is everyone dead!?" she shrieked.

"No, 'Narah, no. The Shout only affected the land itself, the rock, specifically. Even the grass above it remains the same age as before."

"So… is everyone safe? Brynjarr? Ma and the kids?"

"Last I saw them, they were all fine," Fjornir smiled.

"You saw Ma? Does she know…?" Nehenarah's voice caught on her final question.

Fjornir nodded. "She knows. What she doesn't know, what we didn't know, is that  _you_ are safe. I imagine Akatosh will be sending you back to Nirn soon." He looked around the sunless sky. "Right!?" he shouted.

He received no answer.

"He will, Pa, I know he will." Her lips then began to quiver as she fought back tears. "What will happen now? To you…."

Fjornir shrugged. "I'm in dragon heaven. Maybe I'll become one." He smiled.

Nehenarah shook her head. "Lin—Akatosh said that anyone with a dragon soul is part of him. Or, him, them. Part of me, you. You're not a dragon, you're a human, like me. I think… I think Akatosh brought you here for me. To say goodb—" her sobs took over, and her body began to shake. Fjornir held Nehenarah tight in his strong arms, letting her cry.

"Maybe, maybe." Fjornir stroked his daughter's hair. "Maybe I'll end up in Sovngarde. Maybe even the Hall of Valor…."

Nehenarah sniffled. "With Shor?"

"Yep. And Ysgramor. Guess I'll have to wait and see."

The two shared more tears, and Fjornir planted a tender kiss on his daughter's forehead.

* * *

The sound of the nearby Jerall Mountains growing before their eyes was deafening. The army of men and women stared in awe at the forces of nature cut them off from Cyrodiil, from the majority of the Thalmor force. Dragons began to soar above the unfamiliar peaks. Farkas, Aela and Ria had fled during the chaos, leaving Brynjarr more frightened than ever. He and his peers clung together.

When the movement of rock ceased, the silence was near-painful. For a moment, nothing but the breath of the soldiers could be heard. And then a gut-wrenching howl pierced the mortal ears of the army. And then another, and a third, followed by round after round of mournful howling. The men and women searched around them for signs of wolves, but found none.

"There!" shouted Agata. Her keen eyesight was unmatched, and she spotted the dark figures on the craggy rockface of the newborn mountainside.

"Werewolves!?" Brynjarr couldn't believe his eyes. The figures were far away, but one could easily see that the howling was coming from three dark, bipedal creatures.

"It's them," Agata mused, "it's her." She listened as her lover and her lover's closest friends mourned. From what Brynjarr had told the rest of the army, they were likely mourning the loss of their Harbinger, Fjornir.

As the sun began to enter the fourth quadrant, the army decided it best to camp for the night. The commanders of the Redguard army took over general command, but only in order to find sufficient camping ground and dictate who should gather firewood or hunt for their supper. That night they would celebrate together as one people, victorious, but in the morning the Redguards would return to Hammerfell with the hopes of finding their homeland intact. The Breton battlemages remained at the camp only long enough to see to the wounded and help with burying the dead that weren't already claimed by the mountain. They slipped away into the night as the celebration feast carried on.

Brynjarr was restless, however. He ate, but only because his friends forced him to. Agata assured him that Nehenarah was fine, that a dragon must have come and taken her before the battle escalated. Brynjarr tended to one of the bonfires that night, adding new wood as needed, knowing that he would never be able to sleep. Vilkas joined him, however exhausted, and the two Companions sat in silence as they chewed on freshly-roasted venison.

Above them, a dragon swerved, and began a descent not far from the bonfire. Brynjarr stood, and began to talk towards where the dragon had landed.

"Where are you going?" Vilkas asked in a tone that suggested it was more of an order to stay than a question. Brynjarr didn't answer his superior. "Hey, kid. Wait!" Vilkas hopped up from the rock he was sitting on and jogged after the young Companion.

"It's her," was all Brynjarr said.

"You don't know that," said Vilkas.

"I do." The young blond man marched in the direction of the shadowed dragon, losing visibility the further from the bonfire he walked. Resting soldiers watched him and Vilkas with confusion, but stayed out of their business.

In the distance, a yellow light began to glow. It moved from side to side in a steady rhythm. Another light formed, and together they joined in on illuminating Nehenarah's face. Brynjarr saw her clearly and ran to her, furious and terrified and relieved all at once. Before Nehenarah could greet the young man, he took Nehenarah's cheeks into his palms and kissed her with all of the passion he'd withheld from her over the years.

Paarthurnax snorted, lifted his wings, and took flight back to the Throat of the World. Vilkas relaxed, and watched the two young lovebirds lose themselves in one another's arms.

But only for a moment.

"Come on, you two." Vilkas urged them back towards the camp. "Don't wanna get eaten by a sabre cat after all that trouble."


	22. Reunion

Nehenarah and Brynjarr sat alone on Whiterun’s city wall, their feet dangling restlessly off of the edge. Guards stayed clear of the couple; they knew what they did for Skyrim, and they gladly gave them their privacy.

They were watching the sun rise on a new age. Already rumors flew around about the historians wanting to make the day the Thalmor retreated the day the fifth era would start. Others argued that the Thalmor were still a threat, despite there being no passage between Skyrim and Cyrodiil except through Hammerfell, and Hammerfell and Skyrim had formed an alliance. Not an empire, but rather the two countries formed trade agreements and treaties of safe passage between the two lands. Talks were currently under way with High Rock which, positioned adjacent to both countries, was understandably a concern, as technically the land was still part of the crumbling Tamrielic Empire. Ulfric Stormcloak, the High King of Skyrim, wished for a peace treaty between all of the northern lands of Tamriel (including a stable trade relationship with the island of Solstheim). With arguments posed jointly by Skyrim and Hammerfell, Ulfric was confident about the future alliance.

Though the decisions of current kings and queens would certainly affect their futures, Nehenarah and Brynjarr cared little about politics in that moment. They had been a comfort to one another upon leaving the military camp in the south, when the army disbanded. Nehenarah had to relate to the Companions, to everyone, that her father, the Dragonborn, was indeed dead, confirming their suspicions. Fjornir had used a powerful, sacrificial Shout that had moved the earth itself, protecting Skyrim’s southeastern border. Nehenarah had learned that Fjornir’s werewolf friends had sensed his death; the sheer gravity of the supernatural occurrence had triggered their shifting and had led them to howl at the sky, wishing their friend farewell.

The oddest part about the entire situation wasn’t that her father had died in a miraculously selfless way, but rather that her mother had known about Fjornir’s decision before the event happened, and she still _let_ it happen. Eirin had always been very steadfast and stubborn, just like Nehenarah, but when the young woman talked to her mother alone after returning to Jorrvaskr, Eirin had put it plainly: she knew. In some way, Eirin had said, she always knew something like that would happen. She had been inexplicably stressed months before Fjornir’s sacrifice which she blamed mostly on this “feeling”, and only partly on her surprise pregnancy.

Eirin felt a calmness she didn’t expect to feel. Sure, she was sad – Nehenarah could definitely tell her mother was sad – but still, Eirin felt calm because she knew her family would be safe. She also told herself that Fjornir was still “with” them, watching over them from Sovngarde.

While Nehenarah and Brynjarr watched the sun rise, Brynjarr had worked up the nerve to reach across the space between them and laid his hand on hers. Despite sharing a relieved embrace after being reunited upon Nehenarah’s return from Dragon Rest and her meeting with Akatosh, the pair’s interactions were awkward afterwards. Each of them had secrets hidden from the other, and neither of them knew if it was necessary to disclose them. Brynjarr’s biggest secret, if one could call it that, was hanging on a leather string around his neck under his shirt. He had to remind himself to avoid clutching at the ring or patting his shirt, making sure it was still there, for fear Nehenarah notice the frequent movements and inquire what he was doing, or even worse, look under his shirt herself.

“So…,” Brynjarr began. “I hear Dez and Bera are kind of… um….”

Nehenarah laughed. “Yeah. That’s what Ma tells me. They were caught kissing once….”

Brynjarr, staring at his dangling feet, grinned. “It’s… I don’t know why I find it funny; it just is.”

“It’s kind of cute. I wonder if they’ll stay together. You know….”

“Maybe, maybe not. They’re young.” Brynjarr gave a single huffing, nervous laugh. “We’re young….”

Nehenarah stiffened. “We’re not that young, anymore.” She turned to him, but Brynjarr was still staring at his feet. “You’re sixteen now. I missed your birthday….” She looked at the bracelet she wore around her wrist: Brynjarr’s birthday gift to her several months ago. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Brynjarr’s hand tightened around Nehenarah’s. “’Narah, I don’t need any gift. With everything that’s happened… I’m just glad that everyone… I mean… that we’re safe. Your father gave us all a gift….”

Nehenarah fought off a bought of tears and instead laid her head on Brynjarr’s shoulder.

After a while, the sun became too bright to sit facing it, and the pair sat on the stone rampart with their backs against the short wall. From their position, they could see most of the large town, and watched as the daily lives of Whiterun’s inhabitants began as usual.

“I wonder what I’ll do now,” Nehenarah mused as she watched a pair of Companions in the distance set out for a morning jog.

_Marry me,_ Brynjarr said immediately in his mind. “I might move to Windhelm,” Brynjarr said instead of his true thoughts. “There are so many Companions now that there is talk of forming new branches in other holds. My father is in Windhelm, so…,” Brynjarr nervously cleared his throat, “I thought it’d be nice. I don’t know where the Companions could stay in Windhelm, but… maybe there’s some room at the palace. I don’t know. It’s something for us and Vilkas to think about.”

“Vilkas. Harbinger.” Nehenarah was still digesting the change. “I wonder if Lydia insisted to have the mattress changed in the bedroom in Jorrvaskr.”

The pair had a good laugh at the thought. Suddenly Nehenarah’s mind shot to Linnras, however, and the memory of him being presented as her own personal housecarl, and Breezehome being presented to her as a gift, and her father offering to have the mattress changed in the master bedroom there.

Nehenarah sat up straight and squeezed her eyes shut. Her entire body tensed, and Brynjarr noticed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked his friend. Girlfriend. Something-somewhat-more-than-best-friend.

Nehenarah took in several slow, deep breaths. _Just say it just say it just say it—_ “I had sex.” She blurted the confession, the words blasting out of her mouth in a quiet but terse voice. She waited for the eruption of “what how could you”s and “but we were going to wait”s, but they never came. Confident Brynjarr was not going to slap her across the face or leave her hanging on the rampart, she opened her eyes and turned to see a complete lack of shock on her friend’s face. “You’re… not…… angry?”

Brynjarr’s mouth curved down only slightly in a little frown. “No. No, not angry…. I’m just… I’m confused. There was no one but Greybeards up where you were. Did you….”

“No! No, no no….. No.” _Stupid Linnras_. No one remembered he ever existed. “There were Tongues, there…. Trainers….” And then realization lit up in Nehenarah’s mind. She turned to Brynjarr, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you not upset by this?”

“Who says I’m not upset?”

“ _You_ said. You said you’re not angry.”

“I’m not. Not really. I mean…,” Brynjarr fidgeted. “I… I did, too.” He looked away, his cheeks turning fiery red. “Quite a bit, while we were in training. It just happened. I wish it hadn’t.”

“Really?” Nehenarah chuckled. “’Quite a bit’, hmm?”

Brynjarr didn’t look at his friend. “I wanted it to be you. The whole time, I wished it was you. It was… it was just sex. Just… loneliness and being cold in tents. That’s all.”

Nehenarah turned and reached out to Brynjarr, pressing the palm of a hand to his cheek, forcing her friend to look at her. When their eyes locked, she said, “I wanted it to be you, too. I was lonely. I was frustrated. I wanted you….”

Brynjarr couldn’t think of what else to say to Nehenarah. In order to avoid proposing marriage to her right then and there, he kissed her. But then he remembered something else that was perhaps just as important as coming clean about “cheating” on her while they were apart. When their gentle kiss ended, he smiled at his friend, and decided to just come out and say it. “So…, um… I’m kind of, now…,” Brynjarr cringed as he said the words, and his voice turned up in pitch at the phrase that followed, “I’m kind of second in line to be High King….”


	23. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, and thank you for your patience! This is the last full chapter of the story, and after this will be several short epilogues, currently being written. Thank you to those who have let me know that you were waiting for the end of this series. I wasn't really sure anyone cared, so it was good for those who did to contact me. Sorry for beginning another story before finishing this one. That was a terrible idea and not fair to the readers of this story! Oh well, lesson learned. But thank you for sticking with me.

 

_**Everything slows down** _

_**I know you inside and out** _

_**I want to show you** _

_**There's no such thing as time** _

**("No Such Thing As Time" Elenowen)**

Nehenarah watched the door close in front of her, the door to the very room she had occupied back when her father was Harbinger. The room had gone unused since she was called to High Hrothgar. Everything was just as she left it, though perhaps slightly more tidy. She stared at the iron key jutting out from the lock, recalling all-too-vividly the time she forgot turn the key, and what her father had seen. A deep, albeit brief sadness passed through her as she watched the memory play out in her mind's eye, and laughed once she recalled how Brynjarr had not been able to find his pants.

"What's so funny?" Brynjarr asked, walking back toward the now shut doorway he had just passed through.

"The last time we were here…," she answered under her breath, not finishing the thought.

She didn't have to. Brynjarr understood. He let his hands settle lightly on her hips, stepping close to her from behind, brushing a tress from her neck before pressing his lips to her flesh. Nehenarah allowed herself to fall into Brynjarr somewhat, eyes closing on their own accord, forcing her to fully sense Brynjarr's touch. Her mind was on fire, empty of worry but full of anticipation, and of thankfulness. Brynjarr was not angry. Brynjarr had lived his own life, too. Brynjarr was home.  _They_ were home.

On her legs she felt a rush of cold air and knew that her trousers had fallen. While her mind had been preoccupied by ponderings of what being with Brynjarr would be like, she had failed to register his hands on her belt. But she felt them now, sliding up inside her tunic. His mouth was still on her neck, a position that would hinder the further removal of her clothing. Nehenarah unexpectedly quivered when Brynjarr's hands reached her unbound breasts. Brynjarr's low moan of the words "I love you" caused her knees to buckle, but she was quickly caught. Brynjarr was strong, so strong, now. And heir. Heir to Skyrim. One of two, second in line.

A squeeze of her small breasts interrupted her thoughts again and she moaned the word, "Heir."

Brynjarr chuckled. "What?"

Nehenarah spun around, a hand covering her mouth briefly. She smiled, quite sheepishly from where Brynjarr was standing. "Nothing," she laughed over her lie.

The young man before her grinned and took two steps back. He lifted his tunic above his head and flung it carelessly to the floor. He then stood tall in front of Nehenarah, allowing her to move her eyes across his chest. All of it. He could feel the flesh-warmed metal trinket that lay between his modestly-developed pectorals, brushing against his sparse blonde chest hair.

"What…," Nehenarah voiced, closing the small space between them. "Is that…?"

"Nehenarah," Brynjarr began before enveloping her hands with his and taking a deep breath, "I have wanted…." He sighed, doing his best to shed his nerves. He knew there was nothing to worry about, that Nehenarah would say yes. At least, he couldn't think of any reasons why she would decline. "I've wanted to marry you since we were children. Little children. Like… really little. I wanted to be like your parents. So… so in love, just, painfully in love."

Nehenarah felt her face flush with every ounce of blood her tiny facial capillaries would allow. She was certain the crests of her ears were on fire.

Brynjarr let the young woman's hands go, reached around his neck to undo the clasp of the necklace, and then let the ring with the large, flawless diamond drop into his palm. He tossed the leather thong away; it had served its purpose. He held the ring upright between his thumb and forefinger, letting Nehenarah gaze upon the glinting gem. "This is… my inheritance. Part of it, anyway. I didn't agree to be Ulfric's heir  _because_ of things like this – I did it for my father. But, well," he smiled, "Ulfric gave this to me knowing full well who I wanted to gift it to. It was always yours, 'Narah." Brynjarr took Nehenarah's right hand in his, and gently slid the ring onto her first finger. The band was too large, but it didn't matter; that could be fixed, later. He took her jeweled hand and placed the palm over his heart, and took another deep breath. "I want to be your husband, 'Narah. There's no need to wait, not to just be engaged. If you… if you wanted to be. Married, I mean."

Nehenarah stared at Brynjarr with her eyes wide, stunned expression completed by a mouth hung somewhat agape.

Brynjarr was hoping the young woman would have said something in response, and when she didn't he felt his mind racing to find something else to say. "You can think about it, if you want. It's a lot. I know. I might be… maybe… King someday, if Bera…. And that would make you Queen. It's a lot. Too much. I'm sorry. I should have waited."

"No," Nehenarah blurted as she moved her palms to cup Brynjarr's reddened cheeks. She watched as the young man's expression turned to one of sheer horror, and quickly course corrected. "I mean yes! Yes! Oh, Divines, I… damn it…." She sighed, and then laughed. "B', yes, yes I will marry you. I want to marry you. Yes. Yes! I'm glad you didn't wait. So glad." She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him close for a tight hug. "So, so glad." She laughed again, and then pulled away to gaze upon her friend, her first ever and dearest friend. "I admit, it's… a little, you know, a bit much to think about being  _Queen_  right now, but…. Well, we don't have to think about that yet."

"No, we don't," Brynjarr confirmed with a smile.

Nehenarah pushed herself up a ways to plant a firm kiss on Brynjarr's soft rosy lips. Without backing away much, she lifted her lips from his only long enough to whisper, "I love you, too, B'. Always have. Always."

With their next kiss began the next stage of their shared life. They came together, shedding the rest of their clothing briskly, accidentally ripping a few seams. As he had before in that very bed, Brynjarr led Nehenarah to a shuddering release just by using his tongue. Long-awaited desire prevented him from taking his time, but Nehenarah made no protest. Within moments of her crying out in pleasure, Brynjarr was finally inside the woman he loved, holding her to him as he never could before. He thanked Dibella that he lasted more than a moment, despite the overwhelming sensations that came from making love to his soulmate. He buried his face in her neck, letting Nehenarah set the pace from under him as she thrust up while pulling him close with her lower legs. If he let himself take control, he feared he would have hammered into her and finished way too quickly. Still, he knew he wouldn't last forever, and sooner rather than later he was going to have to pull out. He concentrated on other things, like the smell of her hair, and the little bone bead at her wrist that pressed against his shoulder.

But then Nehenarah cried out and dug her fingernails into his back and sank her teeth in a play-bite into his neck. It was too much. His body betrayed him, locked in place as it shuddered, allowing his seed to release into the woman. His cries joined hers, though a bit more sounding of dismay and regret than pleasure, in his opinion.

It took him a moment to regain his composure. "I'm sorry," he said between breaths, forehead pressed to Nehenarah's.

"Sorry? Why sorry?"

"Um… I—"

"Oh." Nehenarah grinned and pulled Brynjarr flush against her again, wrapping all her limbs around him. "It's alright. Mother says I might be able to control when I conceive."

"Huh? How?"

"I have some elf blood in me," she said as she released Brynjarr from her embrace, "from my mother's side. They can apparently choose to conceive or not. But, B', it's fine." They settled into the bed, side by side, facing one another. "I really don't mind. I know we said long ago that it would be nice to… be with one another for a while before screaming babies interrupt us…." She grinned widely, a bit evilly Brynjarr thought, amused, but she then laughed and her smile returned to one of pure sweetness. She shrugged, and Brynjarr enjoyed the way her small breasts bounced as she did so. She leaned in to kiss him, and almost immediately Brynjarr felt a twitch at his groin. But Nehenarah pulled back and looked into Brynjarr's eyes before letting her gaze fall to his chest, torso, and finally his manhood.

Brynjarr was unable to keep his mouth off of her, and kissed her collarbone, her shoulder, and then playfully nibbled at her earlobe. "I'm going to marry you, Nehenarah Fjornirsen."

She giggled at his playfulness. She let their limbs intertwine, loving the way his body felt against hers. "You better, Brynjarr Ralofsen," she responded, still giggling as Brynjarr rolled over her once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be very interested to hear what you all thought of the story as a whole. Do you have any questions? What are some things you think need wrapping up? Hopefully I'll touch on all of them in the epilogues.
> 
> I admit that this storyline, which was my second ever after "Ralof and Nyil", was a bit... different. There were a lot of original characters (at least in part three), and no quests were really narrated at all. I also did the unconventional thing and paired Ulfric off with a dude (eventually). My writing style has evolved, thankfully, and still continues to do so.
> 
> After my Hero series is ended, I don't know if I'll write any more Skyrim fiction. Time will tell.


	24. Epilogue, part 1

_**Clouds on walls, and blue skies** _

_**Mommy's sun, her moon, her stars** _

_**You make me want to live** _

**("You" Fisher)**

"Little Hungaar," Eirin crooned as she gazed down at her newborn son, named so for his father's final deed. Five-year-old Kenlaas, delighted to have a little brother, hadn't left his mother's side since the birth. Eirin's other children, Iilahaan, Dezserahhe, Nehenarah and Haming were all present, as were Haming's wife, Mila, and their three children.

"I can't believe you've birthed  _five_  children, Ma," Nehenarah said as she sat by her mother's side.

" _I_ want _ten_  children!" Kenlaas claimed, winning laughter from the family.

Eirin felt a slight quiver in her lips, and knew she was fighting tears. Hungaar, though a newborn, looked just like Fjornir, she was convinced. The pain was unavoidable, and the tears won. She let them fall, though, smiling softly as to let them pass for tears of joy. She kissed her infant's forehead and let him settle into her arms for a meal.  _Do you see him?_ she asked Fjornir's spirit, wherever he was.  _You have five children, Bear. Five. And, a grandchild on the way. You should have been here… If the whole family had not been with me today, I don't know if I could have gotten through this without you. But look at this little one. Look at him. He was easy. He_ will _be easy. 'Narah says your soul is with the dragons, now. Does that mean you cannot hear me?_  Eirin waited, hoping through her tears to hear or see any sign of Fjornir's attention, but received nothing. Unless, of course, Hungaar's tiny little noises were any indication.

* * *

 

Ulfric Stormcloak lay in bed, battling a coughing fit that ended up splattering a cloth with blood. Though Ulfric protested, his husband Ralof never left his side. Healers and potions did nothing for the aging High King, and even the priestess of Arkay convened messages from the Divine that the man was not long for this world.

Letters and wills were scribbled by Jorleif, witnessed by Ralof, and signed by Ulfric. The political heartbeat of the country did not stop just because its crown was fading, and Ulfric refused to let up his control. In the last few months, relations with Hammerfell strengthened, Morrowind and Skyrim developed state-sanctioned trade agreements, and refugees from Cyrodiil continually attempted to enter Skyrim by various means, no easy task now that the southern mountain passes were obliterated. The Aldmeri Dominion maintained a presence in Cyrodiil, but there were rumors about infighting and civil unrest. There were even rumors that the ruins of the Imperial City had become the new seat of the Psijic Order, a group of Altmer monks who apparently wore down the Dominion from the inside.

"Bring them to me," Ulfric grunted as he lay back, succumbing to another series of coughs. "But they should not stand so close. I could not bear it if they fell ill."

Ralof swept a cloth across his husband's sweaty brow and smiled. "The Divines will protect them, as they have me."

A hint of a smile twitched across Ulfric's mouth. "Go."

Ralof nodded and stood to leave the Jarl's quarters. Their children, Bera and Brynjarr, were finally found in the practice halls below the palace, fighting with wooden swords. Ralof remained silent, leaning on the doorframe to watch the pair duel. He could tell that Brynjarr was holding back his full strength and skill in order to let Bera gain the upper hand, proven when the pre-teen knocked the practice sword out of Brynjarr's hand and pressed the rounded end into his gut.

"Ha! Got you, again!" Bera shouted, triumphant, both arms raised in the air and sword pointed to the ceiling.

"And if I had been wearing chain mail, or steel armor? What then?" Brynjarr smirked after finishing his remark, demonstrating his point by knocking the wooden point against the stone wall.

"Then it would have been your neck!" Bera replied with a snarl.

"And if I had been wearing armor that covered the neck?"

"Then… your… eyeball!"

"That depends on the helmet."

Bera huffed in annoyance and planted her hands on her hips. She pursed her lips, thinking. "Well, if you were covered head to toe in steel, then I would not have fought you. I'm not that stupid."

"And what if you had no choice?"

Her left foot started to tap against the stone floor.

"Gaps," Ralof interjected, leaving his post at the hall entrance.

"Gaps?" Bera asked.

"Gaps, and weak points." Ralof stuck out a hand, bidding Bera give him her sword. When she did so, he feigned trying to get used to the weight of the practice weapon, shifting his grip below the thick guard. He grunted. "Ah, there we go." Brynjarr rolled his eyes. Ralof turned to Bera and pointed the rounded tip of the sword to her right armpit. "Gaps in the armor – areas that must remain flexible and cannot be covered by steel." Left armpit. "Chain mail or leather, yes, but usually not steel. Otherwise, how would a person move?" Neck. "With a sword… it is best to knock your opponent down." Ralof swiveled around and tapped the sword against the back of Bera's little knees. The girl giggled and feigned injury, falling to her knees. "And then…." Ralof finished with a slow-motion spin-move, bringing the wooden blade to Bera's neck. "But," he said, hoisting the wooden weapon behind his head and stretching his shoulders, "only try that move if you are sure there is a weak spot at the neck. There usually is."

"But what if I want to  _punch_  them in their guts?!" Bera asked, doing exactly that to Ralof with her little hands, but not roughly.

"A mace, or axe," Brynjarr said. "Maces crush – axes split. Swords are not good against plate armor, or any heavy armor, for that matter."

"I bet magic is good against it!" she replied. "I want to be a  _battlemage_!"

Ralof sighed through his nose and patted the girl's shoulder. "We'll see about that, hmm? For now, come upstairs with me. Your father needs you." He turned to Brynjarr. "You too, son."


	25. Epilogue, part 2

_**These quiet hours turning to years** _

_**We still pray for sons and daughters** _

_**For now we're still young, just building our kingdom** _

_**It's all to come** _

**("Sons and Daughters" Allman Brown)**

That the ailing High King of Skyrim attended their wedding was a blessing in and of its own. When the High King had declared during the post-ceremony festivities that Brynjarr, his adopted son and heir, was to inherit the thrown before his birth-daughter Bera, a choice she alone had made, everyone but the royal family and Nehenarah's family was surprised, shocked even. Some doubted Brynjarr's legitimacy, being adopted and not born to Ulfric, but no one would dare doubt the claim Nehenarah, firstborn of the Dragonborn Fjornir, had to the throne, particularly after what she and her father both did for Tamriel. Ambassadors from Hammerfell had attended the wedding, and were quite pleased with the news of Skyrim's future monarchs.

Nehenarah's diamond ring, Brynjarr's inherited gift to his bride, reflected the light from the candelabras as the couple danced. Princess Bera, with Dezserahhe at her side, was noticeably more interested in watching the musicians play than dancing to their music.

Ralof let go of Ulfric long enough for the King to share a dance with Nehenarah. As they danced, Ralof took a rest at the side of Eirin, who held her infant son close the entire day. The past lovers, now friends, felt nothing but happiness as they watched their joined families flourish. Eirin did not let herself wish for Fjornir to be there, to see his eldest daughter wed to her childhood friend, for fear of breaking down in tears in the middle of the main hall, the very place where she first met her husband.

The gurgling baby reached out to Ralof, and Eirin let the man hold little Hungaar. His tiny, chubby hands grabbed all that he could, mainly Ralof's ever-present braid, and his recently-grown beard. Hungaar gave the beard a fierce tug, surprising Ralof and eliciting giggles from all who were watching.

Eirin wondered if Ralof saw as much of Fjornir in her child as she did. Hungaar's velvety eyes had faded into a similar grey-green that Fjornir had boasted, and his big baby head was readily becoming covered in a dark brown-red tuft of hair.

Hungaar finally settled in Ralof's lap, braced against the man's chest, looking out on the festivities. The babe happily let Ralof clap his little hands in time to the music, and Eirin could hear her son giggling non-stop. Ralof, too, was enjoying himself. Eirin figured he likely hadn't been around an infant since Brynjarr was born, and, back then, Ralof barely wanted anything to do with the child. He had been busy grieving for Brynjarr's mother, Brynja, who had died in childbirth.

Eirin couldn't help but smile. Her children were not only alive and well, they were  _thriving_. Nehenarah was beyond happy. Dezserahhe was in love. Iilahaan and Kenlaas were living their childhood, going wild on the dance floor; they would grow up in a time of peace. And Hungaar…. Eirin looked again to her youngest, and laughed when she saw that Ralof had stood the still-giggling child on his knees, helping him dance.

The music ended, and Ralof sat Hungaar back down onto his lap for a rest. Ulfric walked over to them and sat next to his husband. Eirin watched Ralof maneuver the child around so that Hungaar could gaze upon the King. "See that, little Hungaar?" Ralof asked the babe. "That's your King, your… uncle? I suppose…." Ralof laughed and held Hungaar up on his knee. "He's going to have to get used to babies, isn't he? Yes, yes he is…." Ralof turned to Eirin with an inquisitive look – he wanted to know if it was alright that Ulfric hold the boy. Eirin smiled her consent, and Ralof handed Hungaar over to Ulfric.

The King looked upon the boy, studying him, perhaps searching for Fjornir, his friend, in Hungaar's pudgy face. Hungaar wasn't nearly as comfortable with Ulfric as he had been with Ralof, and stared at the King wide-eyed. He then reached out and grabbed Ulfric's nose.

* * *

Brynjarr smiled at his wife when she returned to him after dancing with the King. "How was he?" he asked, chuckling. "It looked awkward."

"Mm, yes," Nehenarah answered as she sat down to rest her weary feet, "but only because the entire time he kept suggesting names for the baby." She wrapped an arm around her swollen belly. The priestess had claimed that being with child on one's wedding day was the utmost of blessings, but Nehenarah did not  _feel_  particularly blessed. She knew she was, she knew that the gods were smiling down upon her family, but she  _felt_  like a gassy, clumsy horker who had to pee all the time. She was wholly convinced that the only  _blessing_  pregnancy offered was the child that arrived later.  _Just two more months_ , she reminded herself.

Brynjarr leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Does he not know it is futile? You were dead-set on a name the moment you found out you were pregnant."

Nehenarah smiled, and looked across the hall to see Ralof playing with Hungaar, and moments later he handed the baby to Ulfric. The baby grabbed at the King's nose. A smiling, laughing Eirin then met the eyes of her eldest daughter. She spoke some words to Ralof, stood, and walked across the hall to the bride.

Eirin cupped her hands around her daughter's cheeks and bent down to kiss her forehead before sitting at her side. "How are you fairing tonight? Is he still kicking?"

" _She_ , and yes, a lot tonight."

"'She'," Eirin repeated. "I suppose Akatosh wouldn't be wrong, but you're carrying her like I did my boys, low and narrow."

"The midwife says there's no truth to carry position, Ma."

Eirin smiled. "Alright, alright. We'll just have to wait and see."

Nehenarah reached out and grasped her mother's hand. "Ma, do you think…." She turned to Brynjarr, who smiled and gave a single nod. "Would you…," she turned back to Eirin, "would you stay here, for a while, just until… well, for a while after the baby comes? The children can stay here, too. I know Ulfric would not mind. I just… I'm…."

Eirin leaned in and wrapped her arms around Nehenarah in the tightest of hugs. "Of course, 'Narah. Of course."


	26. Epilogue, part 3

_**Tell this tale to me** _

_**A never-ending moment** _

_**Like we've never been parted** _

**("Oh Love" Ane Brun)**

Eirin's right hand cramped as she stirred the stewpot. It had been doing that the last few years when it rained in the colder months. Despite all her Healing prowess, the arthritis never truly went away, and a flourish of Healing energy merely eased the discomfort slightly rather than masking it altogether, let alone fixing the problem. Her aching fingers locked into position, first finger pointing out on its own accord, the others curling. With her other hand she massaged the stiff joints, despite knowing full well that the action did nothing to help. It felt good as long as she did it, though.

"Let me, Ma," Iilahaan offered, grasping the ladle and lifting the scoop to check on the meal's readiness.

"Thanks, Iila." Eirin wiped her hands down her apron before lifting it off and setting it on the back of a chair. She headed to the back room where the children were playing. Kenlaas, now nine years old, was playing "battle" with his four-year-old brother Hungaar. The little silver soldiers were a gift from Brynjarr and Nehenarah. She listened to their boyish silliness until a knock came at the door.

"I'll get it!" Iilahaan called to her mother, setting the ladle handle hook against the bar above the pot.

"No you will  _not_ ," Eirin corrected her thirteen-year-old daughter. The lot of them – Eirin, Iilahaan, Kenlaas and Hungaar – lived alone, Dezserahhe having moved into the palace at Windhelm with Bera, and Eirin herself served as protector of the household. She was wholly capable of such, and had no need of a sword and shield to defend herself and her family.

Iilahaan climbed up on the kitchen table and then reached up above the tall pantry to where they kept a sword, well out of reach of the younger boys. She was not nearly as competent with manipulating energies as her mother, and the most she could hope for was the ability to heal a paper cut. She never did figure out how to create the same lightning magic that her mother, Nehenarah, and Dezserahhe could. "One day, ma, you'll be thankful for Lydia teaching me to use this."

"Mhmm," Eirin answered sarcastically as she reached up to the eye viewer cut into the door to Breezehome. "Who is it?" she asked, sliding it open.

Blue eyes, flanked by deeply creased crow's feet, gazed back at her. To the side of the man's left temple, Eirin caught the glimpse of a silver-blonde braid. Behind him, rain poured down, a veritable waterfall from the clouds. The man stepped back a ways, allowing Eirin to see his gentle smile. Pink lips, surrounded by a thick silver-blonde beard and moustache, parted. "Hello, Eirin."

 _Ralof_. Eirin immediately undid the series locks, afterward swinging the door open wide. A burst of cold, damp air invaded her home, bringing with it a sorry scene. Ralof's fur cloak was soaked through; his hair was matted, and body shivering. "Gods, Ralof. Come in," she said before grasping the fur of his cloak and tugging him inside. She quickly closed and relocked the door. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright with the children? Little Fjorna?"

"Yes, yes, everyone's fine." He shifted out of his sodden cloak and hung it over a chair near the hearth.

Eirin sighed, clearly miffed. "You're dripping over everything."

Ralof hung his head somewhat and stuck out his arms before gazing up at the woman again. "Apologies."

"There's some clothes upstairs…," Iilahaan said under her breath.

"Go tend to your brothers, Iilah," Eirin ordered the girl.

"But—"

" _Go_ , Iilah," Eirin repeated.

The teenager grumbled, climbed back up to the top of the pantry to replace the sword, stomped to the back room, and slammed the door.

Eirin rubbed her temples. "Go upstairs," she said, quietly. "My room, the small wardrobe…. It has some of his old clothing."

Ralof nodded and kicked off his muddy boots before trotting up the wooden staircase. Eirin silently cursed the man for dirtying her floor. She moved the boots to the designated shoe area near the door and went down to the basement to get a bucket and rags.

The floor was clean once again when Ralof returned wearing simple, nondescript linen clothes that had once belonged to Fjornir; Eirin had never been able to part with even those. Ralof draped the remainder of his clothing over other chair backs and then stood before the fire, warming his hands.

Eirin was surprised to see the man. Years ago, she had half-expected him to show up, one day, after hearing about the King's death. She wasn't even sure how she would have reacted had Ralof indeed expressed feelings toward her, but after the years passed and he did no such thing, she abandoned the thought. She had visited Windhelm often over the years to see her family there, Nehenarah, Brynjarr and their daughter Fjorna, and Dezserahhe and Bera, and was always pleased to see Ralof playing an active role in their granddaughter's upbringing. He was an excellent grandfather.

"Ralof…," Eirin intoned.

"Hmm?"

" _Why_  are you  _here_?" She didn't mean for the question to sound like he wasn't welcome, but his unannounced arrival, unaccompanied by their children or news of them, was simply odd.

Ralof took his time in answering. He flexed his fingers a few more times, his frozen hands finally regaining their nimbleness. He lowered his arms and looked to Eirin across the low flames set in the central floor-height hearth. "I wanted to see you," he replied matter-of-factly.

Eirin didn't really have a response to that. She instead busied herself with checking the stew. Satisfied it was ready to eat, she lifted the pot from the hearthfire and set it on the cooling stand. "Are you hungry? Haming brought over the venison this morning." She could feel Ralof's presence closing in behind her, but ignored it. "The carrots, potatoes and the lot were frozen, though. It was a bad crop year in these parts; not sure about your Hold. We had to put a lot of produce in the ice cellar." Unnerved by Ralof's silence, Eirin turned, an empty wooden bowl reserving a space between her and the encroaching man. She gripped the bowl tightly, and her right hand cramped again. "Ah! Gods damn it…."

"What?" Ralof asked, reaching out to her, grasping her right elbow.

"Oh, you know, just… getting old." She sighed and Healed her hand a bit, and felt immediate albeit moderate relief. "Always does this with winter rain."

Ralof's left hand slid slowly down Eirin's arm, stopping at her wrist. He lifted her hand somewhat, inspecting it as if he knew what to do about the aching. His other hand joined, and he moved both thumbs over the back of the woman's hand in a small massage, feeling the length of each of the five hand bones and rubbing gently between them. The movement told Eirin that he knew quiet well how to ease the ache of aging hands.

"Thank you," she conceded softly after a while of watching his thumbs work.

Ralof let go of her hand, and smiled. "I'll take that stew as a thank you."

Eirin nodded and headed for the cupboard. "Children!" she called as she pulled out one more bowl and spoon. "Dinner!"

The door opened and out ran two boys wielding silver cavalrymen. Hungaar didn't get far before Eirin seized him. She picked him up and kissed his temple, then placed him back on his feet. "No war at the dinner table, hm?"

"I never surrender!" Hungaar protested, raising the toy above his head with both hands.

"A truce then!" Eirin countered. "At least until after dessert."

Hungaar, arms still raised, looked to his mother and then to Ralof, and then back to his mother again. "Truce, if Uncle Ralof is my champion!"

Ralof bowed to the boy from his seated position next to Eirin at the dinner table. "Of course, Sir Hungaar. I am forever your sword and shield."

Hungaar grinned and ran back to his room, returning without the toy, but with Iilahaan. Her expression was only slightly homicidal. "I'm not hungry," she declared.

"Yes you are," Kenlaas disclosed for her.

"Sit and eat, Iilah," Eirin commanded. The teen plopped down on the bench and proceeded to push around the contents of her stew with her spoon.

Ralof grinned. It had been a good long while since he was in the presence of a hot-blooded, indignant teenager. Dezserahhe and Bera had never been the troublesome kind, and passed quietly from childhood directly into young adulthood.

Eirin finally settled and allowed herself to relax and eat her meal. In addition to stew, the table boasted buttered garlic bread, a platter of goat cheese, apples and imported jazbay grapes. Ralof noted the absence of wine or mead, but he wasn't surprised. Eirin was drinking cold tea, a cup of which she had also poured for Ralof, and the children drank milk.

Eirin's family and guest ate in contented silence. The rain, battering the roof, and thunder rumbling the floor provided enough ambient sound to fill the void. As Ralof sipped his tea he saw Eirin switch hands, feeding herself with her left instead of her right. He knew her discomfort, the deep, aching pain of arthritis. He felt it in many places, particularly in the winter, and it was especially bad in his left arm and shoulder.

"Uncle Ralof," Hungaar began, speech muffled by half-chewed food, "how long you stay?"

Ralof thought that the boy's grammar was getting better. He smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I just felt like a visit." He then jumped slightly, not noticeable to anyone thankfully, when something landed on his thigh. He glanced down to see Eirin's right hand, palm up. She flexed her fingers, once, leaving her palm open, inviting. Ralof reached down, and his fingers curled around Eirin's hand. It was cold. "I'll see about visiting my family in Riverwood, too. But…," he turned to Eirin, who was only looking at her stew. She squeezed his hand, though. "I think I'll stay a while." Ralof interwove his fingers between Eirin's, hoping to warm her.

**~The End~**


End file.
